Did you really expect me to die there in the forest? Well, looks like I'm still too tough a bastard. And, against all expectations, I have a job yet, the most difficult of all.

Prologue

"You've gave us quite some wowwy, old fwiend," said the voice from my long gone past. Then there was a pause. Then a tight sigh.

He's not sure yet. Neither am I.

I opened my eyes. Too bright to really see anything. Felt my teeth with my tongue. No intubation tube. Good. Pain was throbbing in my chest, but I forced myself not to try and reach.

Eyes accustomed to the light, and I focused on the face.

"Hello, Angel."

Not so much a words as a hiss.

"Hello, Dextehw Mowgan," Batista said, and I could almost swear the tension in his voice has eased a little. But his eyes were not smiling.

Past is never really gone completely.

[***]

Tonight's a night.

Just another one, the same as before and after. I am pretty much alive, although chained to a hospital bed. Doctors say it will take a year to fully recover, at least.

Full recovery. What an irony.

The bullet crushed my sternum and ruptured a lung. But it missed my heart, as if I don't have one.

But I know I have now. I felt it that instant Harrison looked me in the eye, saying he despised me for what I've done.

I do despise myself, too. And I wasn't lying asking Harrison to kill me.

But I'm still pretty much alive, and I can't help but hope to live on now.

The federal prosecutor hopes otherwise.

We'll see.