It wasn't always this way, yenno?
Before, every bullet I used had a purpose, had a motive. Now? A name hits my desk and I pull the trigger to survive in this shit hole of a place. Once the world throws enough shit your way, the evils of this world become your home, your way of life. You walk among the gravestones and slumlords of hell, becoming reapers of the souls that hit your desk...
Well, as long as they have enough cash to prove that they're worth your trouble. There is only one thing certain about this world, only one thing that you can truly trust and cling to. Listen closely, I'm not going to say it again. It's the one thing everyone agrees on, and that's money. Money is power, and power? Power is everything. Anything that gets in the way of that? Its all sentimental, Hollywood, fairy tale bullshit.
It wasn't always this way.
A long time ago, I actually had a purpose. A reason to fight, a reason to kill. That reason was taken from the very hands that placed them there.
I was a 1st Lieutenant of a special ops group known as Shadow Force 343. We were operating in conflicts unknown to the world. From Azerbaijan, Serbia, to Afghanistan; a name hits our desk and it was our job to make sure their evil never reached the outside world.
But what was my reason to fight? To protect the hypocrites that sat on their asses, soaking themselves in wealth, waiting for the rest of the world to burn? No. That wasn't my reason for fighting, as far as the world knows we-, no-, I don't exist. I had no one to protect, no one I loved. I just had my team, Emerald and Mercury. I fought for them, and only them. But just as luck would have it, their lives were taken from the very people who placed them there. I no longer had reason to do what they say, so what did I do? I did what I do best, kill. I swore that my superiors would dread the day they took the only ones I cared for. I made them pay with their lives.
To the world I'm either dead, or don't exist at all. So I chose to breathe among the walking dead, the world of the abandoned, a world where murder, trafficking, drugs, violence and sex are rampant. The damned city of Fàntsumi.
To any outsider, this city looks like any other port-city filled with drifters, tourists, tall buildings and street carts alike. But if you lived here, you can tell its all a facade. No one chooses to live here, if you're here, you're either born into it or you decided to die. Under the surface, this city is the central circuit of all crime in the Eastern hemisphere. Petty gangs and Mafia alike dwell these streets, they rule them with an iron fist and a shit load of lead. They call this city the graveyard of saints. It makes sense. It's clear that God- well God abandoned this city a long time ago.
In the absence of God, two rival gangs rose up from the ashes of sanity to terrorize and rule these streets. The dictators ruling east of the city are known as Schnee Company and the triads who rule the west are The Xiao Long Syndicate. Bloodshed and violence fill the inner city alleyways and boulevards alike, all because of two families that think they run this shit. The funny part is, they do, and they'll do anything to get the upper hand on the other. A war wages within these cracked up roads and broken dreams meshed together as a pathetic excuse for a city. But it's none of my business unless they pay enough for me to care.
But like I said, it wasn't always this way. I used to have a reason to fight. Now? I do what I do best. I kill any fucker that hits my desk to survive. Ain't that an ironic bitch?