Daniel shook his head, pushing aside the thought for later consideration. At the moment, he needed to concentrate on the immediate task at hand.

"Sorry, I seem to have misplaced my cell phone. Could I use yours? I'll pay for it," Daniel requested, apologetically.

The cab driver appeared surprised by the request. "Are you looking to use the internet or make a call?"

"Internet," Daniel confirmed, exhaling slightly.

"In that case, no need to pay," the cab driver replied, handing his personal phone. "If you decide to make calls, it's a different story. The password is 1234."

Daniel unlocked the screen and began typing in a search for international flights from Sheremetyevo. Glancing at the car's navigation screen, he calculated the amount of time he would spend traveling, checking in, and going through customs. His eyes darted around the flights that popped up. Istanbul was the first to catch his attention, which made sense. Daniel carefully weighed the pros and cons. Istanbul wasn't a bad option: first, the money left after purchasing the ticket would be enough to cover his stay in a hostel until Alice's transfer, and second, there were numerous flights to America from this international hub.

Daniel accessed his Gmail account and began composing an email to Alice. His thoughts were scattered and disjointed, leaping from one topic to the next, but he felt it was crucial for her to understand. Unlike his parents, Alice had shown genuine concern, evidenced by the multitude of letters she had sent him. Daniel bit his lip, feeling a surge of emotion as he wrote briefly that he would contact her once he arrived in another country and found internet access. He mentioned needing money for a ticket home and disclosed that he had managed to escape from his captor, the Cerberus. 

After some contemplation, he added a request for contacts of journalists who often wrote critical articles about the tyranny and corruption of Russian oligarchs. Daniel believed that if a reputable newspaper took an interest in his story, his chances of extricating himself from the situation would improve. He reasoned that there would be money available for a competent lawyer, even if it meant becoming a political pawn exploited by the media for their own agendas. As long as it ensured his safety. Attempting to reach Alice via Facebook messenger, Daniel found her offline and realized he couldn't recall her phone number. Satisfied with his efforts, he cautioned himself against reading any incoming emails from Alice, as they might trigger an emotional overload.

"Thank you," Daniel said as he handed the phone back to the cabbie and leaned back in his seat.

"Something must've happened, huh?" The cabbie gave him a sympathetic look. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Something did happen," Daniel replied dryly. "Now I just want to get out of this mess."

"Don't worry, everything will pass: both sorrow and joy," the cab driver grinned, explaining to Daniel's surprised expression, "Those are lyrics from a song, haven't you heard it?"

"No," Daniel shrugged. He guessed the song was likely from the Soviet era, a period he and his grandmother had skipped in their study of Russian. It always amazed him how Russians loved to quote movies and songs from that time, while often overlooking the classics, as if nothing else in history mattered as much.

The adrenaline kicked in again at the airport. Daniel pulled the hood of his hoodie over his face and went to look for the airline ticket office, following the signs. As he bought his ticket, the excitement subsided a little. There was a realization that what was happening was real. He had managed to accomplish the impossible after all. And at the same time, hunger flared up. Daniel remembered that he hadn't eaten since early morning, and it was already past three in the afternoon. He checked in for his flight, bought a takeaway coffee and sandwich, and swallowed the food quickly, unable to taste it. It was only a little bit left - to pass all the barriers and get on the plane, and in Turkey Alexander wouldn't get him, his arms were not that long.

The queue for border control stretched long and dense. People pushed in from behind, pressing him into a full-figured woman standing in front. Daniel, accustomed to the lack of consideration for personal space in this bustling culture, endured it without complaint. The woman ahead emitted a noxious blend of strong perfume, hairspray, and sweat, forcing Daniel to breathe through his mouth. She chastised her husband breathlessly, fanning herself with her passport.

"We could have been late, all because of you," she scolded, waving her passport like a fan. "I told you we should have left three and a half hours early, but as always, you dragged your feet. Why do I have to deal with this, huh? Just once, why couldn't you listen to me?"

Her constant chatter was oddly comforting, bringing a sense of normalcy to the chaotic surroundings. Daniel tried to minimize the scent of her overpowering perfume by breathing through his mouth as he moved slowly toward the border guards. He fixated on the woman, her hair styled into an elaborate tower, to distract himself from thoughts about potential border control issues. The exit ban should have been lifted along with the dismissal of his case. But had it been lifted by now? He pushed away such thoughts, hoping for the best. After all, it had been three weeks since he came to Moscow and a month and a half since the dismissal. He should be in the clear, free from this country's grip...

Daniel whispered a barely audible greeting and handed his passport and ticket to the window, catching a glimpse of the pretty young officer. She routinely said hello, checked the photo in the passport with his face, entered the data, put the passport aside and... tensed. She looked up at him with impenetrable light green eyes with mournful black eyeliner and said,

"You need to come with me for clarification of the situation. You have an exit ban."

"No," Daniel shrieked loudly, unable to contain himself. "They should have lifted it, the charges against me have been dropped, I'm free, you see!"

"Proceed to the room for clarification," she reiterated firmly, as two officers navigated through the crowd like a sturdy icebreaker, guiding Daniel gently by the elbows. Initially startled, Daniel struggled to grasp what was happening, but then acquiesced, allowing himself to be led away.

"Listen, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The charges were dropped; I should be free to leave. Please check in the system," Daniel pleaded earnestly with the officer on his left, sensing a bit more sympathy from him than the other.

"If there's been an error, we'll sort it out and let you through. These things happen occasionally." The officer reassured, his tone lacking any emotion as he spoke, not bothering to even glance at Daniel. His face remained impassive, indifferent to the situation. Daniel sighed, attempting to calm his racing heart.

"But I'll miss my flight, and I can't afford another ticket. It's crucial that I make this one. Please, officer," Daniel pleaded.

"The sooner we verify, the better chance you'll have of making it onto this flight," the second officer added somberly.

The room was tiny, Daniel was unceremoniously ushered into the cramped room furnished with only two chairs and a desk bearing an ancient computer. A stern-faced officer followed him in and forcefully shut the door behind him. The door closed with a sharp, resounding bang, echoing in Daniel's foggy mind like a gunshot. It reminded him uncomfortably of the prison, although here there was no clinking of deadbolts.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Daniel felt on the verge of losing his composure entirely. Freedom seemed within reach, with the flight still an hour and a half away. If the officers checked the system promptly, he might just make it. Daniel attempted to gather himself, clinging to hope against the odds. After all, luck had been on his side all day; perhaps it would continue. He focused on the officer's broad back obstructing the view of the small monitor, bracing himself for the wait.

Despite Daniel's questions, the officer, fixated on his task, ignored him, typing away with an air of indifference. It was evident that he relished his authority and control. Daniel winced with embarrassment, his voice trembling as he continued to inquire about his situation.

Daniel's sense of time dissolved into a haze of uncertainty, each passing moment eroding his hope. Suddenly, a cacophony of voices erupted from behind the door, which then swung open, revealing furious Maxim. Frozen in place, Daniel watched as the officer, abandoning his futile attempts with the computer, hastily rose and exited, brushing past Maxim in the cramped space, passed Daniel's passport and muttered.

"What took you so long? "

Without a word, Maxim advanced towards the startled Daniel and delivered a forceful blow to his gut, his voice a menacing growl.

"On my watch, jerk!"

His abdomen erupted in searing pain, the force of it knocking the breath from his lungs. Daniel doubled over, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he struggled to endure the agony and straighten up, but another blow came, this time striking his kidneys. Maxim's rage had overridden any semblance of professional detachment. He appeared poised to continue the onslaught, but Daniel stumbled backward, biting his lip until it bled, and collapsed onto the floor, instinctively shielding his head with his hands—a reflex honed through repetition.

He braced himself, expecting more blows, consumed by fear. In a different life, perhaps, he might have felt indignation, anger, a will to fight back, but in this existence, where he was merely a pawn devoid of agency, all he desired was for the beating to cease as swiftly as possible - prison had not ended; it had merely transformed. Maxim cursed vehemently, leaning in close, delivering kicks and blows with ferocious intensity, his voice hissing with menace.

"Stay still, and I won't hit you again. You understand not to speak of what just happened, right?"

"Yes," Daniel breathed out, relieved. He cast a longing glance at the crumpled blue rectangle of his passport in Maxim's left hand and obediently made his way toward the exit. There was no use in shouting or seeking aid; any resistance would only invite further pain - that much was painfully clear.

Daniel moved with effort, each step draining what little strength remained after his brief, frantic escape. His bruised ribs and abdomen throbbed unpleasantly, his knees trembled, and his head pulsed with increasing intensity. Nausea churned in his stomach, threatening to rise with each step. The physical discomfort overshadowed any lingering fear, diffusing into a pervasive ache.

He felt apathetic towards his fate, resigned to an inevitable sense of doom. Nothing positive seemed forthcoming, so why bother with anxiety? Even the prospect of additional blows from Maxim in the car or back at the apartment failed to instill fear; instead, a numb acceptance settled over him.