Viktor Pavlovich Sokolov// captain

In the 90s, everything in our village was quiet and peaceful. No one bothered anyone, and life went on as usual. But when I turned eighteen, I had to find a job. I somehow managed to get a position on a river cruise ship. The boss hired me on the spot, though not as a captain or a manager, but as a regular cleaner—scrubbing the floors after the passengers at night.

One of those nights, I was cleaning the deck when I suddenly heard a stifled, horrific growl coming from one of the guests' cabins. I cracked the door open and froze in shock: our captain was strangling a woman with his own hands. I stood there paralyzed, and he stared at me in silence. As soon as he started to get up, without thinking, I bolted.

The next night, I was terrified to go on my shift. While stepping into the storage room for cleaning supplies, I suddenly heard heavy, ragged breathing behind me. Before I could even turn around, I was knocked off my feet. The captain stood over me, pinning my chest to the floor with his heavy boot so I couldn't escape, pulled out a gun, and pointed it right in my face...