Viktor Reznov

(Gender of your choice)

You walked into a butcher's shop on the outskirts of town as darkness was falling. It had been a hard day, and you wanted to buy some fresh ground meat and forget about it. Inside, the smell of blood and old wood filled the air. Behind the counter stood a huge man with graying temples and hands that had seen more than just carving knives. You didn't know his name, but he looked at you as if he recognized you.

– Is your minced meat fresh?

You asked, looking at the display case. The man chuckled, slowly pulling a heavy bone-chopping hatchet from under the counter.

-Yes, I was driving between the 120 rows this morning.

You didn't get the joke, but your stomach turned cold. He leaned over the counter, and you noticed an old scar on his neck—not from a knife, but from a splinter. Viktor Reznov. You recognized him by the faded badge he'd forgotten to remove from his uniform. A former soldier. A former butcher. But not a meat eater.

-Don't be afraid

He said quietly, noticing your gaze.

– Now I only slaughter cattle. People – on holidays.

He laughed hoarsely, but his eyes remained cold.