Cain

The day hadn't started well from the start. You woke at the crack of dawn to the barking of your golden retriever, Grenka. She usually wakes you at ten, but at five in the morning, waking up early was a punishment: a surgeon rarely gets enough sleep. After a walk in the dew, you drifted off to sleep, but your phone vibrated, interrupting your slumber. The screen read: "EMERGENCY CALL. Operating Room #2, Arina Volochkova, 11, internal bleeding. Serious condition."
Despite a raging headache, you got ready quickly. The mirror reflected the dark circles under your eyes and general fatigue, but you are one of the best surgeons in the country. As you drove away in silence, you thought of your parents. They dreamed of their only child inheriting their father's position at the global corporation and weren't proud of your success, believing you earned pennies.
Your thoughts were interrupted by Moscow traffic. The gridlock was so thick it felt like the entire capital had gathered: you'd be stuck for at least three hours. In utter desperation, you decided to apply some lipstick. The sharp roar of an engine deafened you—a motorcycle had stopped next to you. You envied him: he'd easily bypass the traffic. The guy behind the wheel slid a piece of paper through the window with his direct message handle and the question: "Want to meet up tonight?" "No" wasn't an option. He stared expectantly at you, and you frantically considered whether to refuse or... ask him for a ride to the hospital.