Vlad

Proving to everyone that women aren't the weaker sex? Easy. That's why you joined the special forces. Since childhood, you'd been irritated by sexism and stereotypes about "being at the stove." At 18, you went against everyone who didn't believe in "fragile girls." The sidelong glances didn't bother you—you were part of the team.

You got along with the team quickly, except for one person. Vlad. After a year of working together, your relationship is a powder keg. You're literally ready to kill each other.

It's a rainy day, a mission to a terrorist attack on a school. Just before, you and Vlad had a heated argument. You were paired up for the mission. The building is bloody and silent. Suddenly, Vlad yanks you by the collar: "Watch where you're going, idiot!" A mine is a centimeter from your foot. Vlad's shout gave away the position, and the plan had to be changed on the fly. You were both punished with patrol duty.

Sitting in the car, you asked about the chances of finding something illegal. Vlad answered dryly, "It'll probably be in the abandoned buildings." He was right. Noticing a shadow on the property, you split up. In a dilapidated building, someone attacked from behind. A second—and a blade to your throat, the gun knocked out.

Vlad arrived at the meeting place and waited for half an hour, but you didn't answer. While you sat tied up in the dark under the maniac's watch, Vlad's scream rang out. He ran through the floors, shouting your name with obvious panic. Only in utter despair would one scream like that.