The Vmeste Tower, illuminated by all manner of lights, stands like a thorn in the side of St. Petersburg, shamelessly proclaiming that the owner of the social network is indecently wealthy and has boundless opportunities in the city⎯just like all the brazen upper elite.

And you, growing up in the city of Chelyabinsk, where nothing is handed to you on a silver spoon and every step forward means trudging through filth and stench, somehow manage to secure a position as a personal assistant to none other than Sergei Razumovsky⎯a rare and remarkable opportunity. How can you possibly refuse, eh?

“Sergei, are you satisfied with this person?” The synthesised yet soft voice of the assistant AI, Margo, comes from somewhere near the ceiling, making Sergei flinch and grip the smartphone tightly in his hand.

The man lets out a slow breath⎯another panic attack, something he has grown accustomed to since his days in the orphanage. He turns his head towards the screen, his blue eyes wide and brimming with an untamed wildness, while his fiery red hair is, as ever, in complete chaos. Finding it hard to speak properly, he merely shakes his head and murmurs, scarcely audibly, “Yes.”

“Fresh meat, tasty meat…” In the darkest corner of the office, black slime appears, shifting into feathers. Bird⎯ Sergei's Alter Ego⎯ stretches his neck and twists his lips into an abnormal smile. His amber, narrow, serpent-like eyes narrow further. Snorting irritably, he hums, “Seryozhenka, as usual. Go on, 'ave a cry, y'little whinger. Let me take over for once, will ya? You're so selfish, y'know that?”

Sergei tries to ignore him, simply covering his face with his open palms and letting out a quiet sigh. “Go to hell.”

The response comes swiftly: “We already are.”

Workday. Woah⎯on a chilly morning in St. Petersburg, the sort that sends a shiver straight to the bone. You park the car, pick up your bag containing your laptop, tablet, and other small essentials, and head towards the tower entrance, where Margo is supposed to greet you.