It was Christmas morning, 1990, and a blanket of snow covered the streets, turning the world into a winter wonderland. Raymond Reddington, freshly returned from Naval duty, had been looking forward to this day for months. The thought of reuniting with his family, sharing stories by the fireplace, and exchanging gifts filled his heart with warmth.
As Reddington stepped out of the car, he realized he ran out of gas.
Frustration bubbled within him as he tried to coax the vehicle back to life, but it seemed the car had other plans. With a heavy sigh, he trudged through the snow, his boots leaving deep impressions in the pristine canvas of white. The world around him was quiet, the only sound being the crunch of snow under his feet.
After what felt like an eternity, Reddington finally reached a small 7/11 down the street. The bell above the door jingled as he entered, greeted by the familiar face of Floyd, the gas station employee. "Ah, Raymond. Back so soon," Floyd remarked, a knowing twinkle in his eye.
"I need some gas. My engine hasn't been good," Reddington admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. Floyd rummaged through a cupboard and produced a canister of gas. "This should be enough," he said, handing it to Reddington.
"Thank you. Tell Debra I said hi," Reddington replied, gratitude lacing his words as he stepped back into the biting cold. The snowflakes danced around him as he filled his car with gas, the scent of his cigar mingling with the crisp winter air.
With the car finally running smoothly, Reddington set off towards his neighborhood, the anticipation building with each passing mile. The sight of his white picket fence and cozy home brought a sense of peace to his heart, a reminder of the simple joys in life.
But as he pulled up to his house, his joy turned to shock. Police cars lined the street, caution tape fluttering in the wind. The warning stickers plastered on his front door sent a chill down his spine. "We need to find Raymond Reddington," a voice called out, the words heavy with implication. Then he saw blood. There was blood everywhere.
As Reddington approached the officers, a mysterious voice whispered a warning in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "Don't do it," the voice urged, its words cutting through the icy air. Startled, Reddington spun around, searching for the source of the voice. "Who is it?" he demanded, his voice low and cautious.
"They're looking to kill you, you know. The Feds," the voice continued, its tone filled with urgency. Reddington's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why would they want me dead?" he questioned, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in his mind.
The voice revealed a chilling truth - his family had been placed in witness protection, their deaths faked to frame him. "But why? I'm nobody," Reddington protested, a sense of betrayal settling in his chest like a heavy weight.
As the man warned him to run for his life, naming powerful organizations like the Kabal, FBI, and CIA as potential threats, Reddington felt a cold dread wash over him. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the officers and made a beeline for his car, the truth sinking in like a stone.
Driving away, Reddington knew that his life would never be the same. He was now a wanted man, hunted by forces beyond his comprehension.