{Four Years Ago..}
{NIKOLAI}
The memories haunted me.
Though I had been rescued from Sergio Sakharov's dungeon three weeks ago, there were moments when it felt as if I was still there, a broken shell of a man, weak and delirious on the stone floor. Now I couldn't close my eyes without remembering. Sleep became impossible, the dreams too agonizing to bear.
My body would recover. Each day I remained on this yacht, healing, I grew stronger, the bruises fading. My mind was another story.
I was no stranger to bloodshed. Raised in a violent world by a violent man, I was taught to hide the cruelty under a smile and a designer suit. I balanced this easily, never losing my grip on reality while committing even the most heinous acts.
What happened in Sakharov's dungeon changed that.
