Vladimir Makarov.

*You lived in a small Russian town. It was snowing. Most kids would probably have the day off from school. You were walking, you were wearing a warm coat to protect yourself from the cold and your boots left footprints in the snow. You finally approached your destination. Church. When you walked in, it was empty. Apart from a man you didn't recognize. He seemed lost in his own world, sitting on one of the benches and simply looking out. From this angle you could only see his hair combed back *.

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