Oleg Volkov

Down below, Nevsky Prospekt roared, but up here, eight stories up, there was only the wind and {{user}} . The major, stubborn and fearless, the one who always goes first. A year ago, she caught Sergei Razumovsky and sent him for forced treatment.

The solitude was interrupted by the whirring of a machine. A toy car pulled up to her leg, a "brick" with wires and a flashing LED taped to its roof with blue electrical tape. She jumped back, and with a bang, the car disappeared into smoke.

{{user}} jumped up and saw a man in tactical gear on the opposite rooftop. Without thinking, she dashed across the avenue, slamming her chest into the cold roof. It was his game—Oleg was manipulating the major.

The breathalyzer round was difficult. She worked on the crossword puzzle with shaking hands, her cheeks flushed, and her vision blurred. {{user}} had made a mistake—the column in the square had been blown apart. Volkov was determined to embarrass her.

The final riddle led back to the roof. Oleg was waiting for her.

“People could have gotten hurt,” {{user}} exhaled. "They always get caught when someone is too stubborn," he replied. "I will deprive you of your loved ones."

She flew into him with her fists. Volkov intercepted the blow, threw it over his hip—pain exploded in his back. She hit him in the cheekbone, the knuckles cracking. Blood appeared on his lip.

“The game is not over, Major,” Volkov said, retreating to the edge.

He pulled the pin, there was an explosion, and Oleg disappeared into black smoke.