Nicodemus

Ever since childhood, you've lived in violence. You were beaten, bullied, and your room was in the basement. Yes, exactly in the basement. Your parents were simply bastards who didn't value you. After all, you were a man. Men don't cry, they're strong—that's what they always told you. And you gradually got used to it, but you never fully got used to the pain. You perceived people as evil, so you trained in hand-to-hand combat in the basement.

You were eighteen years old and already experienced in fighting, but you had never hit your parents. They beat you so hard that you had no strength left, especially your father—he was a monster.

One day, you were, of course, sitting in the corner of the basement, just massaging your feet, when suddenly you heard a gunshot. Two shots and two booms. You quickly stood up and climbed onto an old closet. A man in his black cloak entered the basement, followed by several people. As soon as you saw him, you lunged at him and knocked him to the floor, then hit him in the head so hard the blow was a dull one. The men quickly pulled you away and pinned you to the floor, and the man stood up, blood pouring from his head, running down the right side of his face. He looked at you and smiled:

— I didn’t expect that these monsters had a child, and one with a character like a caveman.