A single pill balanced between his lips, the parting within the capsule gently gripped by his first two teeth on his upper and lower sets of teeth. With careful precision, he rolled it with his tongue, careful not to loll its bitter contents as fingers tapped mercilessly away at his keyboard and eyes frantically peered for related results. Ivan Braginsky, the name was a holy hymn, a religion with Alfred as its only devoted follower to the heir. Comparable to a God's presence, yes if it meant the figure remained faceless with barely a scrap of information to the name, and governed the world with large-named corporations as the submissive concubines.
It was the only link to Alfred's past, the troubles his corrupt father endured after taking advantage of his position as the US senator while dealing with overseas business. Virtually, the king ended his weak grasp with his spoiled son alone, the Jones completely erased from both the political and economic grid, and the Braginskys clapping their hands together to rid of the trace as if this was just some game of Monopoly. The hierarchy already had its struggling succession and there was no question that Braginsky maintained an iron grasp that ensured banishing rebels with the power. It's obvious that highly paid henchman dappled within the markets and governments to keep Big Brother's gaze supervising.
Meanwhile, the decade had proven harsh to Alfred with the lavish lifestyle ripped away from his boyhood. He dealt with the depression, the exile that followed from being the senator's son and the bankruptcy that poured from the American empire's downfall. Through boyhood, shame assaulted him left and right, hunger would have a nauseating definition, and his extreme degree of self hatred haunted him until his adult years. For once within the boy's life, he did not mock the homeless with greed and wavered his riches between their hungry noses, it was a cruel twist in fate that Alfred played the woeful victim in. The Braginskys are at fault.
The boy's dishonest temper sought the Russian family at the root of evils, the reason he became the lone successor that would outwit his dead father eventually. The reason why he lived through the days, hatred fueled his blood to avenge his honor and to gamble his life just to get rid of the son who would be gifted the power like a toy. One could propose that his hunger made him prey to Mátyás who would recruit the naive American that simply lived his life to see Ivan praying on his knees. A new life would conspire and had given Alfred a hope to his shallow purpose to his existence. Metamorphosis began to get rid of his old skin, Alfred was dead. The sickly brunet left Albert in the loathing boy's wake as a new man. Blue eyed and blond, a stereotypical sight of the rising American hotshot that would deliver a successful dream. To be noted in history as a hero and praised, a delusion that polluted the ill young man's brain in a single gulp.
He rummaged through data bases, INTERPOL, CODIS, CRS. Anything that would be fruitful to the search, it did seem that the presence of any daughters of sons of the Braginsky family would just be a drug-induced hallucination. Nervously, Albert swished around a Red Bull concoction, the insomniac had no time to waste as his legs already shook with need and adrenaline. A burst in energy recharged the stubbly man's stamina like he was so close to an earth breaking diagnosis. Finally. Years of studying Cyrillic script and taking courses in the Russian language had verified its use, a simple slip in the system that is simply fatal. Details to about attendance to the Hungarian's wedding, a clue to the Braginskys' intention, and a distorted image of Ivan.
A swanky smirk curled his chapped lips, he would forward most of the information to Mátyás quick before its trace would vanish like a magic trick. But as expected, his cockiness craved for the son and reserved the position. Albert now swirled around the taste of champagne in his mouth and sat at a lonesome table in the corner. A few times did he dwell in a meaningless conversation with neighboring tables but his main focus did not falter and his ears piqued any interest at clues to Ivan's arrival. Remain normal, act charming, flash a fake grin. He had built himself up to the top fighting tooth and nail from descending. An amateur artist to one of the his nation's most skilled hackers, he would be damned if this chance terminated.
A/N: Based on a rp so naturally it is shorter than regular stories. I did not get to use this starter however, I suppose I put it into use though.
Mátyás- Nyo! Hungary, credits to my friend Chandler