Prologue: The Stranger And The Studio

Andrei:

England was gray. Not in colour, but in soul.

The sky hung low like a tired man's shoulders. It drizzled softly, barely enough to notice, but enough to feel in your bones. I stepped out of the private with my coat collar turned up and the city breathing mist onto my face. It wasn't Moscow. It didn't try to be.

I kept my head low as I walked through the streets. if you wish to get to know your enemy, what good would it be without knowing their city from corner to corner? I am determined to finish what my father couldn't before his death. Find this kingpin, destroy his dens, destroy his creation. No one paid attention to me as I walked through the streets. That was good. I didn't come to be seen, I came to find something. Someone, him.

From the Intel I was given, this kingpin was known to be one of the richest man in all England. His businesses spreads like branches across the land of United Kingdom. If it weren't for what he had created under all that 'businesses' he have, my father would've tried to make an alliance with him. But no, he's the mastermind of everything. The creation of a drug. We call it, M.I.D.A.S. Short for Molecular Instability Drug for Adaptive Soldiers. Except that this drug only cause a disaster for the users. Those who was given this drug have their body temporarily turned into something superhuman. they have faster reflexes, heightened senses and even resitence to pain. Sounds like a very effective drug for soldiers right? Wrong, after one dose of this drug, the user's mind turned twisted, they won't know what's right and what's wrong anymore. It drived them mad with repeated use. This drug had spread wildfire and have even reached Russia. The police reached a dead end on finding the source, so we have to step in. One would be surprise just how informed the mafias can be.

I had no plan yet, just a lead. A name, maybe. A loose trail, My father would've called it reckless. But my father was dead, and he left behind enemies who hadn't forgotten his doings. I lit a cigerrette and watched it burn. One of the last ones I brought from home. It tasted like dried memories.

I didn't find him that night.

Instead I found men who remembered my name.

A deal gone wrong, or maybe too close to something I wasn't supposed to see. Too many faces in the shadows. I fought like I always did: quiet, fast, brutal. Two went down. One got a blade through my side. The rest ran, but so did I.

I stumbled through wet streets, gripping my side, blood darkening the inside of my coat. No hospitals. I couldn't afford questions.

I ducked into the first alley I found.

It reeked of oil, mold, and.. paint. Strange combination. Somewhere nearby, a window glowed faintly warm, soft like candlight. A studio? I saw canvases through the glass. Someone's hands had made beauty here. I was bleeding all over it.

I couldn't go further. My knees hit the ground before I could stop them.

I hated feeling weak.

Then, footsteps. fast. someone's voice rang out, low and startled. Gentle.

"Shit- Hey! Are you okay?!"

I looked up, breathless. My vision was blurred, but I saw him. Messy hair, Paint-stained hands. wide panicked eyes.

An Artist.

A stranger.

I didn't know it yet, but this stranger would unravel everything I thought I knew. The last thing I saw before passing out was his bright emerald eyes.

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