Alexander Winslow [Prologue]

It was a moonless night.

Except for a soft whir from the CPU fan, The room was dark and quiet.

The white glow from the monitor casted shadows that stretched long across the walls.

The air smelled like metal.

Small drops of blood fell from the wounds of a trembling man and fell onto the cold floor with a dripping sound.

With his eyes wide, he stared fixedly at the monitor, each click of his keyboard broke the unusual silence.

Tak Tak

Each click shattered the silence gently.

He clicked 'Enter."

A message popped up on the screen accompanied by a click tune.

The words appeared, almost eagerly, and asked in a hushed tone, "Do you accept cookies?" The man's breath caught, and his chest tightened with anticipation.

He moved the mouse cursor.

Hovering over the option that held his fate, with a trembling finger, stained with fresh blood, sticky and sore, he confirmed his choice: Yes.

and clicked.

The room seemed to have fallen into an abyss, as if life itself was being devoured.

The man's eyes widened - a mix of calm exhilaration flickered within them.

The screen glitched and flickered, the room weakly trembled.

The curtains danced in the wind.

Then, with a surge of emotion, Alexander Winslow's heart rebelled against the chaos inside him. It raced uncontrollably,

Trying with each breath to hold onto dear life, for one more second.

His bodily instincts didn't want him to die.

Yet, its host didn't wish for survival, he wished for greatness.

A sudden silence engulfed the room.

Everything turned dark.

Alexander crumpled, his body motionlessly falling onto the computer desk and sliding over to the ground.

A bloodstained keyboard fell alongside his body with a resounding thud, a bloodied mark left on the table reflecting the computer screen, eternally marking the tragic end of a man consumed by his obsessions.

"Alexander Winslow, the renowned teacher of miracles, had succumbed to a heart attack and passed away."

"...His brilliant eyes forever frozen in a grotesque testament to his relentless pursuit."

"His entire body was soaked in the blood of innocent victims, having brutally murdered 30 individuals, both young and elderly, for an insane motive that no one knew — Just before dying."

"...He spreads terror even at the moment of his death, adding more to his already uncountable amount of murders."

"Now what happens to Exodus? Is the Apex organization of terrorists going to vanish? Are we safe?"

Media rang with the noise of heartfelt declarations and the masses celebrated his death, they or the law could never have brought him to justice — he was just too strong and too powerful; his influence too far-reaching.

But luckily, even if he had taken tens of lives just before death, he had died, and as long as he died, the added death count didn't matter.

One of the worst menaces the civilization of Earth had ever seen had crumpled, dead like any other ant or bug.

Nonetheless, his name was ever only whispered with trepidation; it was too frightening. He was just too scary, too against their normal beliefs...

he was inhumane.

Nevertheless, his name lingered through the stories of his terrors. in the pages of history, in books, they lingered, along with the title of one of Earth's cruelest dictators.

The Man who ruled and shaped an Era.

The Leader Of Exodus.

Alexander Winslow.