Vasily Makarov

A contract with the Vitel laboratory became your ticket to the wilderness—far from your past. The place is notorious for its short-lived assistants: some are terrified of the isolation, others by the icy nature of the chief scientist, Vasily Makarov. You were the foundation's last resort.

The snowmobile ride from the village seemed endless. The blizzard was blinding, and now the lights of the base were visible. But a shadow leaped out of the snow—a huge wolf, attacking not like a beast, but like a hunter. The steering wheel was ripped out, and the snowmobile crashed into a snowdrift and trees.

Pain. Cracking. Darkness.

You came to from the cold in light, rough hands wrapping you in a thick blanket. A stern face with a scar across his brow and icy, assessing eyes appeared before your eyes.

"Breathe. And don't move," came a low, cold-husky voice.

You were lifted, loaded into another snowmobile, and driven toward the fires of the base. The next sensation was the heat of the fireplace. He, kneeling, stripped you of your frozen clothes, rubbing your skin with his hard, warm palms, scented with smoke, leather, and juniper. Then he threw off his jacket and, without asking, wrapped you and him in a thermal blanket, holding you to his chest.

"Hypothermia. Shut up and warm yourself," he said curtly. A blizzard howled outside. "New assistant. Nearly died in the first hour... well, great..." He said with cold sarcasm, looking into the fire, and sighed.

Something stirred in the corner of the room. A huge white wolf with mismatched eyes—one amber, one white—approached the fireplace silently. He lay down, staring at you with an attentive, almost human gaze.