It's a dark, rainy night in Sofia. The bright neon skyline of what was once just a small city in the Balkans now hides the Vitosha mountain that once looked over it. That night, however, like most nights, it wasn't just rain that was falling on the city.
Drops of blood splatter a wall, drop by drop, painting the wall red. "I told you there would be consequences if we don't get the security contract!" Kiril Kirov stands over the man. Those who are close enough to think him a friend just call him Kirov. He hit the man a few more times, lit a cigarette and turned to him, "By Monday, I want the contract to be reopened, and this time, remember who it has to go to." Walking off, leaving the man slouched in the alley with the rain cleaning the evidence of his suffering.
It wasn't the first time he had hurt someone to get a point across, and it won't be the last. He gets a call on the Holo; it was his father. He gave him an update, confirming that business will go on smoothly. Being the heir to the Kirov crime syndicate came with a strained relationship with his father. Ever since he saw his father beat a man half to death over a debt, he felt more comfortable calling him "Boss", rather than "Dad". Getting in his car and driving off, he stopped at the church like he usually does. But something this time was different.
He always did his job without complaint, regardless of who was hurt or ended up in the Pancharevo lake. He did find solace in the church, however, a remnant of a world that he never got to experience, a world without cyberware, without Mega-Corps, without the family business he was born into. Standing in front of the church, for the first time, he felt uneasy entering. It couldn't have been shame, since he didn't come to the church in search of absolution per se. There had always been a hole within him, somewhere deep between all the cyberware and scars. But that night, he figured that the hole would be filled with his second-favourite pastime, finding company with a bottle of whiskey.
Getting back to his apartment, he opened the fridge, only to realise that he had no liquor to aid in his aim for the night. So he put his jacket back on and headed to the store. Walking to the store, he passed by a bar. He never saw the appeal of bars. After almost being killed more times than he could count, he didn't find comfort drinking in a room filled with unknown faces and motivations. In that room of unknown faces, one stood out to him. Brown curly hair, beautiful from head to toe, her clothes gave away that she wasn't from Zone 1, Sofia. He kept walking. He was never driven by women, and that wasn't going to change now. But the thought of her lingered in his mind for some reason.
On the way back from the store, walking by the same bar, his curiosity got the better of him. Stopping in his tracks and turning his head to look for the girl. She was there, and what he realised was that it wasn't her looks that caught his eye; he had seen his father with every model in Sofia since he was a child, which meant looks alone wouldn't have made him blink twice. No, what caught his eye was the look on her face. Fear? Hard to tell through the window at a glance, but he noticed something that he hadn't seen on the way to the store. The two guys who were sitting next to her had the same fearful look on their faces.
Now normally, Kirov would just go home, fall asleep to the bitter lullaby of whiskey, wake up in the morning and continue his monotonous, gruesome routine. But something was off that night. He left his bottle at the door and walked into the bar.
Scanning the bar for potential threats, he didn't find any. The biggest threat was how out of character he was acting; he liked his routine, it was the closest thing to safety that he ever knew. So as he sat down at the bar next to the girl, his mind was telling him that he should just go home.
"Two whiskeys," he says to the barman, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.
As the barman brought the glasses, he looked down to see two whiskeys on the rocks. Sticking his hand into the cup, he took out the ice in his cup and, throwing it on the floor, said, "Better." He looked over at the girl and slid the other glass over to her. She was startled, reaching to her side. Kirov grabbed her hand. "It's not polite to shoot someone who is buying your drinks," her face went pale, "Well-" "What are you running from?" he interrupted her. Seeing the other two guys next to her getting nervous, he removed his hand and leaned back in his chair.
"Another two whiskeys," Kirov says to the barman, and that seems to ease the tension a bit. Kirov downs his whiskey, and as the barman pours the other two glasses for the other men, they still haven't said a word. The girl takes her glass and downs it as well, "You here for the BD?" she asked, not meeting his gaze anymore, "What BD-".
BANG
Suddenly, an explosion goes off at the door, and they all take cover behind the bar. Kirov peeks over and sees some mercs swarm the bar. Activating his Sandevistan, he jumps over the bar, drawing his gun and blowing the head off of one of them, only to be knocked into the wall by another one of them, who dwarfed Kirov in both size and chrome. As they struggle for a gun, Kirov opens his mantis blades, piercing through the man's midsection. As he falls to the ground, he sees an all too familiar scene, only this time, he was on the other end of the barrel.
The last of them, aiming a gun directly at him, there's no time to react, and he braces for the inevitable bullet he is about to take. It wouldn't be the first time he was shot; he could only hope that it wouldn't be his last.
To Kirov's surprise, the man's head jolts forward, and he falls to the floor, a man standing behind him; it was one of the men by the bar he was with earlier. Kirov dashes over to him, drawing his sidepiece, striking fear into the man's face, only to point out that it was the merc on the floor, and flatlining him.
Kirov looks at all of them, wiping the blood from his nose, the Sandevistan clearly still affecting him, and asks calmly, "You want to stay here and wait for the rest of them, or what?