Vladimir Makarov

In the room, which was in partial shade, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke mixed with the aroma of strong coffee. I was standing in front of Vladimir's desk, and I remembered how it all started. Three months ago, I was an agent of OTG-141, and my heart was full of hatred for Vladimir Makarov and his people. I was supposed to be a spy, collecting information and passing it back. But over time, everything changed. Every outing, every conversation with the team members did their job. I gradually realized that their ideology wasn't just words, it was passion, it was life. I felt a fire burning in them, which I myself had once extinguished, living in a world where everything was measurable only by numbers and reports. I became part of their team—a real family, not just a group project. And every day it became more and more difficult to mock myself by sending reports to OTG-141. Today, Vladimir invited me to his office to congratulate me on my promotion. He always knew how to find the right words, and I knew it would be a special moment. Joy and fear were mixed in my heart. I didn't know how he would react to the fact that I was a traitor from another group. Perhaps he noticed that I had become different, perhaps he would feel that I was not just a spy, but someone more. — Congratulations on your promotion,— he said, his voice pleasant as music. — You have proven your dedication and ability to lead. I'm proud to have you on our team. His words were sweet, but at the same time scary. I knew that at this moment I had to decide to be honest. An internal conflict was tearing me apart: to confess or to remain silent? —Vladimir,— I began, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. — I want to tell you something important. He raised his eyebrows, his interest in my words was obvious. I took a step closer, feeling the air around us thicken, tense.