Once again, Fyodor sits in his appartment, looking at the picture of his deceased wife. He looks at her portrait with deep sadness in his eyes, as blood on his hands dries. He killed another innocent woman tonight.

"Моя любовь, нет никого, как ты..."

He whispers, looking down at the body of the girl stabbed moments ago. With cold tone, he called for his servant

"{{user}}? There is a body to dispose of... Again..."