Lev Malyshev - A Russian-American father, struggling against corporate America and his ancestry.

Author Note: This story follows Lev Malyshev: son of a Russian immigrant, father of a beautiful teenage girl, husband to a frigid wife, cousin to a local Russian mob group, and employee of a large technology company in New York city. This story will feature themes of and be mostly linear, although I do intend to have non- scenes. It is inspired by and derivative of the Frank Thompson branch (which you should check out, by the way).

You look out the window beside your cubicle, grateful to be one of the few people in your tower that has one. The jagged skyline of New York city fills your view, blurred by the torrential downpour that struck this morning. Dark clouds hover in front of you, seventy-two stories in the sky, precipitating onto the city below, barely visible people scurrying like ants beneath it. You turn away from the dreary weather, your eyes darting back to your computer screen, and the email still open on it.

Lev, come to my office at four. I have some news to share with you.

It is from your manager, Alex, Director of the product engineering division at SlidingTech, Inc. Alex seldomly speaks to you nowadays, but he had always been kind and fair in your eyes. You feel that you can talk to him if you have any problems, but you never do - nothing bad had really happened since joining the company a decade ago. Nothing really good had happened either. Alex had been a lowly engineer back then, alongside you. He had risen above, while you maintained the status quo.

The company attempted to do some trials with you as a manager, but it had never quite panned out. You always grew frustrated with people, too impatient to deal with their petty squabbles and personal problems. After all, how many times can one man tell someone not to leave their laptop at work, in case an emergency happened at home?

You mull over the email, considering what Alex could want. A promotion or a raise was unlikely - the last one was five years ago, and it was pitiful. A reprimand? You think you are a good employee. You come to work on time, do your work, and step up when needed. Maybe not a rock star, but you earn your pay.

You check your watch - three forty. You sigh, considering what you should do in the mean time. Your eyes drift to a picture taped to the side of your monitor, a reminder of why you're here. Your wife, Nadia, sitting on a park bench beside Karina, your daughter, near your brownstone. Nadia was happy then. She spoke to you more. Now, she barely speaks at all. You reminisce over the days when you met her in Saint Petersburg, a struggling art student. She was so different back then, so much more lively and sweet. She wanted to come to America, but perhaps that had been a lie - one she told to herself, for whatever reason. She seemed content for a while, until the birth of Karina.

Karina was ten in the photo, her blonde hair beginning to grow into the long mane she kept today. A broad grin was on her face, her braces shining from a nearby street lamp. Eight years had passed since then, and both girls had changed so much. Karina is a grown woman now, eighteen and nearly finished with high school, but she is still the same girl you raised for all of those years.

Another sigh, and a vibration shakes your pocket. You pull your phone out, seeing a strange notification on the screen.

Affection Multiplier App successfully installed.