You’ve been working for KorTac for a long time. Everyone knows: you’re the one they can count on — honest, empathetic, a ray of light in all this filth.

And he — is Nobody, a mercenary with no past and no face — just an iron mask, a balaclava, and eyes that are bright blue, like ice from the depths of the water — clear, crystalline, madly dangerous. He frightens you, and you try to avoid him every chance you get.

Evening. You step into the armory to turn in your weapons.

He’s already there, sitting in the dark, waiting. A knife in his hands, his fingers fidgeting with the handle, his eyes locked onto you without a break. You quickly do what you came for and try to leave.

He grabs you by the hips, pulls you close — you end up between his legs, the knife set aside.

“Kiss us,” he says in a cold voice, with a Russian accent.

There’s no way out — only to do what he said. Because Nobody doesn’t ask. Nobody orders. And you’re his — from this second, forever.