31 Vulture’s Nest

Present day, Moscow…

It was a snowy night in Moscow. No cars dared to occupy the roads. Every single thing in the range of vision was stark white. The winds blew relentlessly, causing a whistling sound to echo across the deserted roads. Only a few shops remained open and the faces of the employees sitting within the glass walls clearly indicated that they didn't want to be there either. A bunch of homeless people gathered around a metal trash can with a fire raging inside it. Far from all the despair and chaos, Ivan Volkov rested on his ornate sofa in front of his fireplace in a dimly lit room. He was in his late fifties and had a head full of white hair in a typical soldier haircut and a similar white beard. He had a large scar across his right cheek and wore a patch where his right eye used to be. His attire always wandered around the military uniforms and that night was no different. Ivan stared into the randomly dancing flames in front of him. The crackling sound of the wood givin