A/N: THIS STORY IS BACK! Wahoo! The Hiatus is over! Hey, sorry for the outburst to anyone who hasn't read this already, but for those who have I've finally decided to bring this back. It's been edited on a few parts so I hope it's better than the first time. Enjoy!

P.s. I don't own Tangled.

Prologue:

The world really is a cold, dark place and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, because it is. Evils like corruption, disease, and war have almost destroyed mankind, and what's left of it is on the brink of chaos. The breakdown in state authority and rule of law has pushed people into insecurity and borderline poverty. The perfect kind of world for ruffians, thugs, and hooligans. Illegal businesses are on the rave and generate billions of dollars; smuggling, dealing, and killing are the new get rich quick businesses. Only the safe havens of North America, Western Europe, and East Asia remain secure and developed. But life has managed to go on, no matter what the conditions.

!#$%^&*()

Darius Stabbington's POV

'Save the planet.' Whenever I read that bumper sticker I had to laugh. 'Save the planet.' What for? And from what? Ourselves? Life's real simple; kill or be killed. You wanna stay alive in a world like this, here's what you do; don't get involved in what's not yours, always finish the job your given, and find a place to hide. It's a survivors code; my code. And it all sounds great till the day you're confronted by a choice. A choice to make a difference, to help someone. . .or to walk away and save yourself. I learned something that day; you can't always walk away.

Too bad it was the day I died.

!#$%^&*()

Moscow, Russia. Year 2031, 6 days earlier.

There's always a couple things you should and should not do in life. And no, I'm not talking about little baby stuff like lying, or stealing, or not putting your elbows on a freakin table. People've never stated them but they should just pop up in mind whenever the situation comes along; you should always carry protection with you at all times, you should always keep your head down so not to attract unwanted attention, and you should trust no one. But if there's one thing you should never do, it's rip off an ex-mercenary.

I got ripped off. And nobody rips me off.

I guess that explains why I'm walking in the freezing rain in the middle of Moscow, wearing my worn camo jacket on top a bullet proof vest, and a broken gun strapped on me. The streets were crowded with arms dealers, sellin anything an ex-mercenary like me could ever want; Klasinkovs (my personal favorite), Mac-10s, Dragunov snipers, Mk-19s. Hell, they even had a T-72 tank up for sale. But I wasn't here for those; I needed to return some merchandise. I walked past a familiar olive green tent, inside was a really short man with snow white hair, and crooked teeth. He went by the name Shorty, but to me. . .he's the man that almost got me killed.

I walked in, grabbed him by the chest, and threw 'em outside in the rain. He looked mortified, and he should've been. Better people have tried ripping me off and better men have ended up dead the next day. I hoisted him up to his knees, as a crowd was gathering around us, watchin the show. No one was gonna help him, in this world everyone is on their own, but that didn't stop me from pushing a few guys who came too close back. Shorty was screaming, and wailing, and begging like a fuckin two year old.

So I put my gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened. "You see this!" I yelled waving the Beretta in front of his face. "I paid fifty dollars for this shit, and it almost gets me killed!" I then pulled him to his feet, which really didn't make much difference in height, and went through his pockets. "I want my money back."

After I found his stash of cash, I pocketed it, pushed him down for good measure, and walked away like nothing had ever happened. The crowd backed away the second I moved, looking a bit shocked before shaking it off and going back to business as usual. He had way more than 50 bucks on him but I didn't give a damn, finders keepers right?

Yeah I could've killed him, but sometimes it's better to let a few of 'em live, spread the word not to touch this guy or that guy. That's another thing you need in this world to survive; a reputation that'll scare the shit out of people. It's a deterrant, and it works wonders. With that order of business out of the way, I went on to my next one; eat, relax, and stay home till I get another job offer. You could call that being lazy but don't worry, I've got plenty of jobs to keep me busy. By this time tomorrow, I'll probably in a different country, piss a few important people off, get shot at, finish the job, and be home before dinner. . .or not.

I was hoping for 'or not' but I wouldn't bet on it.

!#$%^&*()

I walked into a faded white apartment building out in the suburbs of Moscow. It was. . .to be frank, a crappy place; the walls had some scattered bullet holes, the ceiling pipes leaked a few times, and it reeked of wet dog smell. But it wasn't any less crappy than other places in the city. It was in one of the safer areas, and the neighbors were quiet so I wasn't complaining much. I was about to unlock the door to my place when I noticed a group of little red-haired girls peering at me from the apartment next to mine. The door was opened slightly and all you could see were four pairs of eyes and mops of red stacked on top one another.

"Lucy, girls. You're all horrible at spying, stop trying." I said without even looking at them.

I heard a 'humph' and the light tapping of feet as they appeared next to me. I stared at them, a small smirk played across my face. It was too cute to see they were picking up a few of my skills. . .or at least trying to. For some reason, they got really attached to me, like I was a hero to them. Every time, they'd look up at me with awe, probably cuz I was a giant in their eyes. They all knew what I did for a living, of at least Lucy, the oldest of the four who was around eight, did.

"How was work?" Lucy asked with her Russian accent, looking all innocent with her hands behind her back, and head slightly tilted to the side.

My smirk widened as I unlocked the door. "I didn't have work today. Your English is getting pretty good, you been practicing on the book I gave ya?"

She nodded with a toothy grin. "Every day. I teach too." she said motioning to her sisters, who looked at me with those awe-struck puppy dog eyes, and waved.

"Good, bye girls." I said waving back, and opened the door.

"Dari, people was here looking for you today."

My smile faded as I sighed. "They always are." was the last thing I said before closing the door behind me.

20 minutes later, I had a piece of steak skinned and on the frying pan, along with a few onions and carrots on the side. The TV was on with some news report about deadly shootings in Uzbekistan or something other country like that. I turned it off; when you're in this business, you get tired of hearing that shit everyday, especially since you caused it a few times. I like to enjoy my meals in silence anyway. I plated the food on the table, poured myself a glass of wine, took a drink, and sat down, my back facing the door. It was a table for two, but the other seat hasn't been used in three years. It was his seat; my brother's. That was until he 'left the business', so to speak. And with the way my life was going, I'll probably end up the same way.

I had just taken a few bites, when I heard a ticking noise that made me freeze.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

My instincts took over as I covered my food and braced myself. I heard a 'Boom' come from my door, and felt flying pieces of debris and dusk against my bullet-proof vest.

Great, what did I do now?

A/N: I'd personally like to thank Tangledsawesome, Reverend Lovejoy, and susan friedman for encouraging me not to give this story up, I can't thank you three enough for the advice. And I know for a fact that you (Tangledsawesome) will be extatic to see this come back.

I had given up on this story once because of a lack of feedback, which is the 1# cause of story cancelations, but I won't do it a second time. All I ask for, is a simple review. That's all we want as writers, to know what our readers think, so if you could review I'd greatly appreciate that.