Prologue

A white noise echoes through the window. A grey scenery covered in raindrops. He ponders upon this silvery view. He then thought to himself, "is it because there is such a familiar connection of emptiness with the scene, or is my apathy getting the better of me again?" He never felt whole until he found what he was looking for, "the true me." In his own eyes, he is nothing but an empty shell of who he was. No recollection of the life he once lived. What made matters worse, his personal records are but non-existent. They were all erased by his past self. Whoever he was, he must have been someone who wanted to disappear from the world, like he never existed.

"We're now close to our destination, sir." The driver breaks the faint silence in the car.

His eyes peeked to the driver's direction; their eyes connect. He replied back without facing him. The rain started to let down. The raindrops fell silent, and the clouds began to part with shine piercing through. Lost all interest with the scenery, he turn to face his luggage that sat on the opposite side of him. A long suitcase that sits flat on the seat, serving as the one and only thing he needed. The car slows down and abruptly stops, announcing that I have arrived at my destination.

"That'll be 130 Marks, sir." Surprised. He didn't know he travelled this far in a short while, and blankly stared at the man.

He proceeded with the transactions, grabbed his luggage, and exited the vehicle. The rain is no more, and he is instead greeted by the blinding light in the sky. The taxi behind him left and the sound of its engines fade into the distance.

He stares upward to the azure sky, raising his left hand to shield him from the sun's rays. His eyes are still adjusting to this intense, gleaming sky and wonders why its brighter than usual. Maybe he preferred the rainy scenery. A gentle gust of wind blew through him. His hair swept slightly by the winds of a coming winter. His coat brushing along by the breeze, like it was made of cotton than thick fabric for cold temperatures. He lowers his left hand, and moved towards the railing in front of him. He was bewildered by such a view. A vast, shimmering sea supplemented by a clear, azure sky. He glared upon the sea, for its beauty is truly captivating and pleasing to the eyes. The breeze from earlier still billows through him, blending the feeling of the sun's warmth and the salty air of the shore.

"I wish I can admire this view more often." Said the coated figure. He laughs, which sounded more like an exhale than a release of happiness. "But I got a job to do, something more important right now."

He turns to the left and notices a building. An old building, medieval-looking and inviting. He climbs the stone steps to its entrance, and now faces a wooden door that says "open." He enters the building, and what greets him on the other side is a warm, dimly lit pub. Some of the clientele in their seats briefly looked at him and proceeded to go back to minding their own business.

"What will you be having, son?" An old man wiping a glass greets his new customer over the counter. The coated figure advances toward the bar, giving a short sigh of respite and leaned over the counter.

"Can I book a room here?" The coated man replied. "I'm planning on setting a meeting here later today."

"Sorry, son." The old man replies back. "The room upstairs had been booked earlier today by some odd fellow, sayin' that the room is for: 'a young man in a grey coat carrying some large baggage...'"

The reminiscing old man subsequently looks at the figure from top to bottom, in a pondering posture. He's beginning to realize that the person in front of him is the room's current tenant.

"That person wouldn't happen to be you, am I correct?"

"It can't be anyone else here but me." The coated figure sarcastically replies.

He pulls out a note from his left pocket and handed it to the bartender over the counter. The old man takes it and turns to his back to read it more privately. and reads it for a short while. His reactions were still noticeable even if his back was turned. The coated figure looks around and admired the beverages behind the counter for its variety, containing eloquent and rich alcohol and wine. The atmosphere has a tipsy feeling of warmth like an inebriated gentleman and its ambiance is quiet for a pub. After a short while, the bartender finishes the note and hands it back to the man.

"Apologies for my blunt behavior, you are the assailant of the room upstairs, this note confirms it." He then gives him a small key, the directions to my room, and tells him to enjoy his stay here in the pub.

"Pleasure doin' business with you, 'Darren Lexington.'"

Darren thanked him and then walked to the left side of the building, and is greeted by another door. Behind this door is where the only flight of stairs this building has, according to the bartender and his instructions. Darren found it odd in how the old tipster said his name, like he was trying to make it sound clear to someone. As he climbs the stairs, he reminisces of a certain person. Someone he found important yet so annoying.

"Goddamn it Nick." He said in annoyance. "You've always prepped things for me in advance, and yet you never said a word about it to me."

He expressed discontent to Nick, a partner-in-crime of Darren though he's more of a behind-the-scenes guy than a partner. He prepares and organize tasks for him behind his back, leaving his motives and connections unclear. Despite Nick's suspiciousness, the young man still trusts him.

As he climbs further up the wooden stairs, it led him to the only room on the second floor. His footsteps made the stairs create loud, creaking noises and are getting ricketier as a he ascended higher. A short turn to the left and he noticed an oak wood door, unlike the one at the entrance. He inserted key into the knob. A simple twist made a sound from the door. He enters the room, and what met him on the other side was a cozy and spacious room shined by a lone window's light. Its pristine curtains being gently bristled by the outdoor breeze. Below the window is a small, conveniently placed table and chair. He places the suitcase under the table, and took a seat. He looked around and saw that there are several bookshelves around here and paintings are decoratively hung up on the walls. He takes a more laxed pose and now patiently waits for the upcoming meeting. He glares out the window, and sees the same view he saw earlier.

Nick had told Darren that the person he will be meeting with is a "prominent" dealer in the illegal market. This dealer has something that caught his eye. A sword, it is not an antique but rather it looked "otherworldly" and gave Darren a familiar feeling like he's crossed paths with it before. Even if the weapon's a forgery, Darren will continue his search to find his true self. Wait, he hears something, it's coming from the door. A similar creaking noise is creeping towards his direction. Someone is climbing the stairs. It's not just one, there are more footsteps he can clearly hear. He unlocks the suitcase though he did not open it. The footsteps then suddenly stopped, only a dreadful silence remains. The door knob is struggling to open as if the person outside is being impatient, then it paused for a moment. This silence returns and Darren leaves his seat. As he slowly approaches the door, from a moment of uncomfortable silence, turns into chaos in an instant. The door was violently kicked open, breaking the lock and littering the area with dust and splinters. Darren was pushed back and forced into covering himself with his arms from the flying dust. That door was too old and not maintained for years, making it easier to break open by force. A faint silhouette of a man forms from the smoke, nonchalantly entering the room whilst the dust shrouds his being.

"Our information checks out; this is our man." Said the intruder, spoken with a raspy and tired voice. "A small-time thug by the name of 'Darren Lexington.'"

Surprised and shock from the destructive intrusion, Darren's reaction quickly shifted into weariness. This is not the first time he had gotten into trouble. His mindset is as if he sees the intruder more as nuisance than a threat. He stands to directly face the silhouette, like a duel with an anonymous opponent. Darren hears louder footsteps coming the broken entrance. Two large men appearing from the dust, working on behalf of the shadow in the mist.

Darren thought to himself this: "Damn it all, I have no time for this! I need to get rid of these guys fast before the dealer arrives!"