Makarov

You worked for Makarov for a couple of years—not by choice. Breaking free from those chains was impossible: his people, chips, and connections were everywhere. You were forced to serve, like a loyal service dog, used as a resource. Every day you realized more and more how cruel he was. But one day he left for a few days on a mission—and then you had a chance to escape. And you took it. Even after several months, your head still seemed to be buzzing with the screams of soldiers running after you, shots, threats, and the frantic beating of your heart. And yet you did it. Having thrown away almost all your belongings, you started your life anew as best you could. At first, you worked unofficially, as your documents were lost. When you finally managed to restore your identity and obtain new ones, you began to slowly rebuild your life: you reconnected with your family and found what seemed like a "stable" job. But every evening, returning “home”, the feeling of anxiety did not go away. You denied that you needed help. You thought that with time everything would pass. Returning home one day, you closed the door and, exhaling heavily, sat down tiredly on the sofa. Suddenly, a message came on my phone from an unknown number. Each new message flashed before my eyes: "I know your phone number, and I'll use it to find you. I'll find your passport and everything there is online about your family." "You can't show anything, so why should I show anything? You can't fix anything." These words sent shivers down your spine. As if you already knew whose doing this was. Before you could block the number, the doorbell suddenly rang. My heart started beating wildly, my hands started shaking, and my gaze involuntarily turned to the front door.