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The AdvAnTAGE Project: The Old Man's Origins

By Mantrid Brizon

(09/11/2021)

With a hand on the small of Krystal's back, Agent Sharpe and his partner depart the secret meeting, their hearts filled with resolve. As their loyal guards close the doors and prepare their extraction, Mr. Nazarov removes an unfiltered cigarette from his golden cigarette case, lighting it with his matching, gold plated Zippo lighter. Director Bloodworth hangs his head, running his fingers through his short, salt and pepper hair, while General David leans back in his folding chair, arms crossed and staring pensively at the bland card table.

“I can't believe it's come to this." Director Bloodworth murmurs.

“This is the only way, gentleman. We all know it. He must be stopped, before it's too late. Mr. Sharpe and that... Thing..." Mr. Nazarov cringes. “Unfortunately, they're our only hope."

“Do you really think this will work?" General Davis quietly asks, turning toward Mr. Nazarov. “What if they fail? What if we're only digging our own graves?"

“We've been digging our graves ever since this whole thing began. We're only now about to set foot in them." Mr. Nazarov replies, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “The real question is, what is the legacy we'll leave behind."

“What do you mean?" Director Bloodworth lifts his head, a sorrowful look on his aging face.

“You know exactly what I mean, Raul. Don't pretend to be dense." Mr. Nazarov snaps at his compatriot.

“You don't really think he'd let it go that far... Do you?" General Davis gulps, his unease and anxiety written all over his face.

“Neither of you know him the way I do. He is a monster..."

“He couldn't have always been like this. I recall when we first began the AdvAnTAGE Project, he was... Cheery!" Director Bloodworth remarks.

“Hah! ... As I said, you don't know him the way I do... I know who he really is... Pure, unfiltered evil..." Mr. Nazarov murmurs, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Sitting back in his chair, The Old Man stares blankly at the wall. In these rare moments, when he has no work ahead of him, he finds himself pondering, reminiscing on days long past. How did he even make it this far? What a road he's traveled; all those things he's seen and done. It often amazes him to be sitting in this very office, holding the fate of the world in his hands. It wasn't always the so. Opening a drawer in his desk, he retrieves a single artifact. As he pulls back his hand, he pauses and turns toward his guards.

“Watch the elevator..."

“Sir?"

“I'll be there momentarily."

“Yes, sir."

He follows them with his icy cold eyes, watching his guards as they open the secret door in the black marble wall. They disappear behind it, waiting inside of the elevator to his penthouse. Finally alone, he pulls his hand from the drawer, examining the laminated paper. On the back there's a scrawling in pencil.

“November 21st, 1963. Agents Daniel & Emeryth Rey"

The old, black and white photograph depicts two men with cleanly shaven faces, dark hair that's slicked back and icy eyes. Wearing business casual, their ties are loosened and their arms crossed. Standing back-to-back, upper bodies bent slightly toward the photographer, their Smith & Wesson Model 10 service revolvers are clutched in opposite hands. With cocky smirks, they're young and fit, ready to take on the world. It's a picture fit for a film noir poster. Leaning back in his chair, The Old Man's lips contort. With a heavy sigh, he tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“No..." He closes his eyes tightly, a single tear running down his cheek. “Not tonight."

Returning the picture to the drawer, he carefully closes it. What a life he's lived, and there's still so much more to do. He's only just begun to enact his grand plan. Slowly rising from his chair, The Old Man moves toward the opened door that leads to the elevator of his penthouse. His unsteady walk has grown worse, but rather than appear weak and use a cane, he merely slows his pace. His guards cannot help but show a modicum of humanity.

“Are you alright, sir?" One man asks, holding out a hand to him.

“I'm fine." The Old Man pats him on the shoulder. “I just need to rest."

“Yes, sir."

They escort him up to his penthouse, and The Old Man slowly makes his way to his bedroom. As he changes into silken pajamas and slips into bed, his mind returns to the aged photograph. Oftentimes, he wishes he'd laminated it sooner, before the sands of time eroded it as much as they have. Things were just so chaotic back then. The little things, like fond memories, were forgotten in exchange for his work, albeit temporarily. Closing his eyes, The Old Man swiftly drifts off to sleep. It's become easier and easier, the older he gets.

“Do you understand your mission?"

Standing at the tiny desk in a back office of the Pentagon, The Old Man's eyes scan his surroundings. It's exactly the way he remembers.

“Yes, sir."

Looking toward the voice, he stares at his brother, who stands at attention, his hands at the small of his back, one hand clasped in the other.

“And you? ... You understand what's at stake here..."

“Yes, sir. This has to be done." The Old Man replies, turning toward the Director.

“Good. You'll have a few weeks to prepare, but the date must not be changed. We cannot afford to leave this unfinished any longer than necessary. The planning will be on you. Just make sure you set up a good patsy." The Director says, casually closing a folder.

“Understood."

Leaving the office, The Old Man catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a window. He's as young and vibrant as he was the day that he and his brother, a fellow Agent of the NSA, accepted the most important mission of their lives. They begin their work, planning out their mission. They already have a man in mind, someone they were preparing for just such an occasion. His brother places the call and sets the meet. It's time to use their first asset.

“Are you ready to save America?!"

“Yeah..."

“You don't sound too sure of that..."

“Don't start, Daniel." Emeryth sighs.

“This is an important mission. The Director entrusted us to do it. Do you know what this means for us?"

“It means we're expendable." Emeryth retorts.

“Come on, Emy."

“Don't call me that... It makes me sound like a Nancy-boy."

“Alright, Emeryth. It means we're on the cusp! We do this and we could be the first brother duo in charge on the Agency. In fact, we might be able to ride this out until we retire!" Daniel chirps.

“Can we stop at the funeral home on the way to the airport? I want to plan for my retirement early." Emeryth quips.

“Don't be such a cynic! What we're doing is important! I mean, let's just say that they clean us, and find a shallow grave to put us in; you cannot deny the importance of this mission."

“Planting a tree whose shade we'll never sit in?" Emeryth raises an eyebrow.

“He almost caused World War Three!" Daniel exclaims, throwing his hands into the air.

“Maybe he should've."

“And destroy this great country and possibly even the world?! What on earth would make you say such a thing?!"

“All the things we've seen, Daniel... I fail to see what's so great about the world. America is great, sure, and Britain and a few other places, but the whole world?! Half the population doesn't even want the freedom we're offering, unless we shoot it out of a gun or drop it from a bomber. Dictators subjugate their people and some of them get away with it until the day they die, even as millions suffer. Our own Presidents are corrupt, amoral womanizers who wield power like a kid who found his dad's gun. I mean, when you really think about it, why does evil even exist? Because the average man and woman would rather eat, sleep and fuck, without a care for their fellow man. This world we live in... This is all we're ever going to have, at least until we can evolve beyond the flesh."

“Damn... You can be a real downer sometimes!" Daniel smirks.

“Hey, you asked." Emeryth grins.

“Maybe all of those things are true, and I can certainly attest to our failings as mortal men, but there's still some good things!"

“Don't you even dare say 'love'." Emeryth points a finger. “You're too smart for bullshit cliches."

“Fine! I'll start a list... Got a pencil?" Daniel asks, patting down his pockets.

“We need to catch our plane." Emeryth shakes his head, softly chuckling.

With bags in-hand, the brothers make their way to Dallas, Texas. Once there, they adopt aliases and spend their time with their asset, preparing the patsy for his mission. It was easier than they'd expected. He's so willing, even eager, and though it's hard to listen to him throw around the word “comrade", they were soon assured that their asset would never betray them. It was this patsy who took The Old Man's beloved photograph with one of the brother's personal cameras. Everything is going according to plan. All the patsy needs to do is go to work that day.

“I'm almost going to miss that guy." Emeryth remarks.

“Don't get attached. You know, there's something to be said about those rumors of the Men In Black." Daniel replies, unpacking a rifle.

“You believe that stuff?!"

“Aliens? No." Daniel chuckles, loading up the magazine. “But those fabled men in black... That sounds like something we would do."

“I guess you have a point... It does ramp up the intimidation factor." Emeryth rubs his chin.

“It also makes witnesses less likely to be believed, when they spout off about mysterious, oddball strangers telling them they didn't see anything in the sky. Might make it easier to do work like this, too, keeping emotional distance... Still, I'm going to miss Lee, too."

It was the 22nd of November, 1963, and with their plan in motion, Daniel crawled through the sewer system with his scoped semi-automatic Remington 81 rifle. Meanwhile, Emeryth contacted another associate, handing him an umbrella. He knew what to do, even if he didn't know why. As Lee Harvey Oswald worked at the book depository, going about his day, Daniel took aim. The limousine approached, the associate with the umbrella gave the signal, Daniel fired, and Emeryth collected his brother before ensuring that their patsy took the fall.

It almost hurt the brothers, when an innocent police officer was shot and Lee was arrested, but their work wasn't done. Under pressure from the Agency, Jack Ruby ensured that Lee would never talk. Only with their patsy gone could they consider their mission a success. He took Lee's life in full view of the public, thereby ensuring the Agency's favor, or so he thought. The brothers had chosen their second asset very well, picking a man with obvious mental instabilities, all but guaranteeing that any stories of black-suited men from the government wouldn't be believed. They'd finally succeeded.

“Looks like we did it, Emeryth!" Daniel exclaims, popping the cork on a bottle of champaign.

“What are you so happy about?" Emeryth asks, his eyes glued to a letter he's writing.

“We pulled it off. The assignment went off without a hitch, and no one can tie it to us, our Director or the big boss to any of it. Come on! Have a drink with me, in celebration of a perfect mission." Daniel pours and extends a glass of champaign to his brother.

“There's no time. We have another assignment, remember?"

“All you do is work and pray. That's not healthy. You need to relax." Daniel remarks, relaxing on a nearby sofa.

“Work is all I have to occupy my mind, and God keeps me balanced." Emeryth replies, still writing the letter.

“Well, if it works for you... At least they're letting us work together, again!" Daniel chirps, leaning back on the couch.

“Yeah, that's something..." Emeryth sighs.

“What? Are you sick of me, already?"

“A little." Emeryth smirks.

“Yeah, well... I was mom's favorite." Daniel teases.

“May she rest in piece..."

After posting a letter to a recent KGB defector, a young operative named Yuri Nazarov, the brothers make their way to their car. As they toss their bags into the trunk, tires squeal in the background. Daniel turns around, seeing the lights illuminating them.

“Emy! Look out!"

Diving to the side as a car pulls up, men in suits and fedoras stick submachineguns out of the passenger's side windows and open fire. They scrambled for cover and Emeryth catches a .45 ACP slug from an M3A1 Grease Gun. It pierces his calf muscle and sends him to the ground. Daniel takes a round to the shoulder. Without uttering a single word, the men pull their matching weapons back into the car, which promptly speeds away, the tires squealing as they turn each corner.

“Daniel? Danny?!"

“Emy... I'm over here." Daniel calls out from behind a concrete pillar.

“Danny!"

Hobbled from the gunshot, Emeryth scrambles toward his brother, leaving a blood trail in his wake.

“I don't think it's bad..." Daniel glances at the bleed wound in his shoulder.

“Oh, no, Danny... Come on! We gotta get out of here. I've got you, Danny! Don't you worry!"

With his arms around his brother's body, Emeryth drags him back toward the bullet riddled car. He pauses, however, when he realizes how badly damaged it is, not even mentioning the highly suspicious nature of a car riddled with bullet holes. Using a foldable slim jim he carries in a suit jacket pocket, Emeryth steals a nearby car and promptly stuffs his brother into the back. After hastily cleaning the scene, he hotwires the new vehicle and drives away, fighting through the pain of his own injury.

“Stay with me, Danny! I know some people! We can take care of this!"

“I know... The same people." Daniel chuckles, then coughs. “You know, I... I think this is a little worse than I thought!"

“Shut up, Danny! We're going to fix this!" Emeryth exclaims, whipping the steering wheel, the tires screeching as he turns a corner.

“Emy..."

“I told you not to call me that. Mom called me that and I always felt like a sissy for it." Emeryth nervously chuckles. “Just save your strength."

Making his way toward Comanche, a city barely big enough to be called a town on the outskirts of Dallas, Emeryth hopes to meet another asset they've groomed. He's a doctor, whom they hope to use as a fall-guy for any future assignments. His propensity toward Communism makes him a perfect candidate in the current political climate. Upon reaching the doctor, he's quick to aid his “comrades" and patches up Emeryth. Daniel, however, is barely alive. The bullet did quite a bit of damage, and the doctor says he'll need to operate on him to save his life.

Emeryth can't wait, however. Time is of the essence. Leaving Daniel behind, Emeryth knows just how to settle the score. He has to, after all. Once the Agency learns that they aren't dead, they'll come seeking their assets, hoping to tie up any loose ends in their hunt to kill their discarded Agents. With a Colt 1903 Pocket Hammerless pistol in-hand, Emeryth collects all of the incriminating evidence he can, but only after luring away the men who were waiting in his and his brother's apartment.

Calling in a noise complaint to the manager of the building is all it takes. The Agents waiting to kill them slip out of the window as the manager checks the apartment, leaving through the fire escape. They hastily conceal their pistols in the pockets of their suit jackets, looking to and fro as they make their way down to the ground floor. Emeryth knows that after circling the block, they'll be back.

“I knew it... I knew they were going to clean us. A job like that, how could they not? This is why you need to listen to me more often, Daniel." Emeryth murmurs to himself.

Slipping into the apartment, he swiftly collects all of the incriminating evidence, which he'd stashed in a secret compartment hidden behind the wainscoting. This includes the correspondence from their Director to the men at the top, the men who ordered JFK's assassination. The big boss, the man behind all of these lesser men, now sits behind the oval office. Upon returning to the doctor who'd helped Daniel, who is now conscious and stable, Emeryth reveals his plan.

“If we copy all of this, make arrangements for them to be sent for distribution and then send a threat to our Director, we might be able to force them to back down."

“Emy..."

“Come on, Danny! It's our best shot!"

“They had us kill the President, and they nearly killed us... You think we're walking out of this?"

“Yes."

“Heh... Since when did you become the optimist?" Daniel chuckles and coughs.

“I wouldn't go that far, but think about it. We already own the Chief Editors of most of these papers. We personally built their files at the Agency. Remember who we caught The New York Times' Editor-in-Chief with? Interracial affairs are spicy, and he might be apt to keep that secret."

“You think you can blackmail the sitting President with a bunch of newspaper men?" Daniel raises an eyebrow.

“What did we learn from our KGB contacts and those Nazi guys who came here during Operation Paperclip? Propaganda is the most powerful weapon on earth, second only to blackmail and bribery, with good old-fashioned violence chasing after their tails. With propaganda, we can make people believe a common cold is the black plague, or aliens bent on global domination are angels coming to rapture them. Of that list of weapons, we've got two at our disposal; bribery isn't one of them and we can't distribute propaganda, so we either con or kill every single one of those backstabbing bastards... Take your pick."

“... Who are we calling first?" Daniel asks with a heavy sigh.

“I'm glad you're seeing things my way."

Helping his brother Daniel up from the table, the doctor comes in to check on his bandages. After giving him medication, fresh bandages and a few instructions, Daniel draws Emeryth's gun from his shoulder holster, takes aim and shoots the doctor dead, in his own kitchen.

“Ow! Damn, that's loud! ... Danny! What did you do?! We could've used him!"

“You aren't ruthless enough, Emy... This isn't a time to be soft. He was a loose end." Daniel casually explains, slipping his brother's pistol back into his holster for him. “Look on the bright side. At least he didn't have any family, so we don't have to kill any women or children."

“Would you have?" Emeryth asks, challenging his brother.

“Of course!" Daniel scoffs. “Like I said, you aren't ruthless enough. Don't think of them as people, just obstacles."

“... What if we needed his help? What if you needed him?"

“There's more doctors... Come on. Let's take what we need, torch this place and go."

“You just sacrificed him..."

“I'll sacrifice a thousand lives if it helps us." Daniel coldly retorts. “We're going to need a mortician if we don't get this show on the road."

Following Daniel's lead, Emeryth helps him loot the doctor's house before setting it ablaze. By the time the fire truly rages, they're already long gone. Within a week, they find themselves in Los Angeles, and just as Emeryth had hoped, a little blackmail goes a long way. To Daniel's surprise, Emeryth is quite good at this game. Newspaper after newspaper, they back the most influential people into corners, scaring them into staying quiet and obeying. In mere days, they hold the truth behind JFK's assassination over the heads of their enemies, and that's only the beginning.

Within a month of the assassination, they've turned so many to their cause through fear of exposure or death that they're confident enough to call LBJ directly. With all that they have, they might as well be bulletproof. Still, Emeryth is visibly amazed when the sitting President so quickly agrees to their terms, allowing them amnesty in exchange for keeping the scandalous secret. Something doesn't sit right, though. For some reason, he expected there to be far more blood.

“How can I be certain you won't betray me?" LBJ askes.

“You'll just have to trust us." Daniel coolly, even snidely replies.

“If you bury those files, you can always dig them up."

“Yeah..."

“Will you hand them over, to ease my mind? ... It'll help build the trust between us."

Covering the telephone's microphone with his palm, Daniel turns toward his brother.

“Well? Do you think we should risk it?"

“With what we have, they probably assumed we made copies, which we did. They'd be fools not to. What's the harm in giving them copies and making them feel better?" Emeryth replies.

“Good point. We'll keep the originals in a back pocket, just in case." Daniel agrees, nodding his head. “Alright!" He chirps into the phone. “We give you our files, you let us go and start over wherever the hell we please, and we forget this whole assassination thing ever happened."

“Deal!" LBJ breathes a sigh of relief. “When and where?"

“We'll contact our Director. He'll be the go-between."

After careful planning, Daniel and Emeryth are ready to make their move. Using a contact who feared being outed as homosexual, quite the offense in 1964, they send a handwritten note to the Director of the NSA and wait. Emeryth holds a Remington Model 14 pump-action rifle, a scope attached to it and the serial number destroyed. With his eye looking through the scope, he watches from the rooftop of a nearby building. Daniel will make the exchange, while he provides cover. Hopefully, everything goes according to plan.

Daniel turns and looks toward the adjacent rooftop. Emeryth signals him with a mirror. He can see the Director making his way inside, walking in alone, exactly as they'd instructed. He makes his way to the appropriate floor of the multi-level garage, and Emeryth can see his brother talking with the Director. Daniel opens his briefcase and holds out the folder with a copy of their evidence. It's quite thick, and the Director appears surprised. After thumbing through it, they seem to be parting ways. Just then, he sees flashes in the nearby darkness.

Bang, bang, bang, bang! Two men rush out, each holding a revolver and each firing two shots. Where did they come from?! Were they waiting inside the entire time or did they slip in through an entrance they'd somehow missed?! As his brother falls, a man brings out a small, bright red can from an oversized pocket of his trench coat. The other man collects the files from the Director. Emeryth hastily pulls the trigger. Click! A hard primer; the gun fails to fire. He pumps the action, just as his brother's killers light a small book of matches and toss them onto Daniel's twitching corpse.

“NO!!!" Emeryth cannot help but exclaim.

Hearing the voice from across the way, the Director hastily retreats. He doesn't even bother to look. He knows what's coming. Emeryth pulls the trigger. BANG! He misses, pumps the action and tries again. BANG! A round rips into the back of one of his brother's killers, dropping the man to the ground. Rather than risk him being captured, his partner turns and shoots one round into the top of his skull before retreating with the Director. Clearly, they don't want to leave anyone behind for the rogue Agent to question. He must know too much.

Emeryth darts down the stairs and through the building, holding the rifle in his trembling hands as he dashes across the street in broad daylight. Making his way up the parking garage and toward his brother, he grabs a fire extinguisher and rips it from the mount, slinging his rifle across his back at the same time. Upon reaching his brother's burning body, the stench of charred flesh flooding his nostrils, he's briefly frozen in shock and horror. Snapping himself out of it, he quickly extinguishes the flames. The horrifying sight is almost unbearable. Daniel is unrecognizable...

“Oh, God... No!" Emeryth turns his back on the putrid sight. “Please, God... Why?! Why did this have to happen?!" He whimpers as he drops to his knees and begins to cry.

“Emy..."

“Ahh!"

Jumping up, he whirls around, horrified to see the charred body of his brother still moving! With four gunshot wounds to his chest and both third and fourth-degree burns covering his entire body, Daniel somehow isn't dead! The unbridled horror of the grotesque sight makes Emeryth reel. The agony Daniel must feel is unimaginable! His skin chips and flakes away, leaving crimson muscle exposed to the open air.

“I'm... Cold..."

“Danny... I'm so sorry!"

Taking his rifle from his back, Emeryth takes aim, then looks away as he pulls the trigger. BANG! His ears ring from the unbearably loud report, which echoes inside of the concrete structure. With a single shot to the head, Daniel is finally gone. No more pain, no more suffering. Hearing the sirens approaching, Emeryth hardly cares to save himself, except for one thing... They killed his brother, and he needs to make them pay. He likely can't kill them all, but at least he can humiliate and subjugate them.

Making his way outside, he climbs into the getaway car his brother Daniel was supposed to be driving, only to very slowly and sorrowfully drive to their safe house. He only narrowly escapes the local police, who race to the scene. As fast as they arrived, the Director and his men must've tipped them off just before the meet. He shuffles his feet as he gathers their evidence from the safe house, the agony of loss overwhelming him. He finds the photo, taken the day before the fateful mission that cost him everything.

He can bear it no longer. With his heart breaking, Emeryth stumbles from the house, a single bag in-hand. A thunder clap echoes through the darkened sky. The rain pours and soaks him to the bone, his body beginning to shiver. Is this what Daniel felt before he was forced to end his suffering? Feeling the cross that perpetually dangles beneath his shirt, Emeryth rips off his tie and tears at his top. Falling to his knees, he sobs like a child, his hands in the muck as he stares at the tiny, golden cross dangling before his chest.

“Where are you?! Where the fuck did you go?!" Emeryth shouts to the sky, his hand shaking as he clutches the cross. “Why did you take my brother?! Why don't you ever talk to me?! Tell me what I'm supposed to be doing, damnit!" He roars, ripping the jewelry from his neck. “... Where you ever there to begin with or has it always been me?"

After staring pensively at the cross, his face contorts with disgust. Emeryth tosses it into the nearby foliage, his heart heavy and filled with an almost blinding rage. He makes his own way. He always did but he only now realizes it. Slowly rising to his feet, he knows what he has to do. There's one last thing he can try, to ensure his safety and guarantee a lasting revenge. Using the contacts they'd made and the information they'd gathered, Emeryth spends the next five days hiding and making scores of phone calls. This time, he's certain he's covered all of his bases.

On the sixth day, when the time is right, he makes his move. He'd done all he could do, and now it's the time to see if his methods are as effective as he hopes. Using a particular number, a phone rings in the oval office.

“Hello?"

“Some doesn't know how to follow instructions... I thought we told you to stand down?" Emeryth casually begins.

“... Mr. Rey?!" LBJ gasps.

“You saw the news, so you know what happened? You're next, you stupid bastard, unless you decide to play nice."

“Do you know who you're talking to?!"

“My lapdog, and a soon to be dead one, if you don't start being a good boy."

“How dare you! I'm the President of the United States!"

“One phone call, 'Mr. President', and you won't survive the night, let alone win next year's election."

“What are you talking about?!"

“Don't pretend to be dense. We both know you only look stupid. You want that, don't you? You want another term? I know you do, you greedy fucking pig. You had us erase the last man in that chair. Play ball, and I can make it happen. Give me what I want, and you get what you want. Fuck with me, and I'll bury you... I'm done playing games."

“Alright, alright! Name your terms..."

He can't help but smile as the President degrades himself, begging for more power. LBJ loves the presidency, and it's clear that Emeryth finally has something worth taking away from him. He ensures that not only was the price on his head removed, but that he would personally claim his revenge on the second man who killed his brother. The Director, however, was too useful for him to eliminate. All of this, and Emeryth didn't even need to surrender the files. He'll never make the same mistake twice.

With that, the chaos ceased, and Emeryth kept his word. With his growing cache of contacts, Mr. Nazarov one of the first among them, he bribes and blackmails the electoral college, ensuring LBJ will enjoy a full term. True to his word, his former Director begrudgingly presents the Agent who'd helped murder his brother, Daniel. With a room full of loyal men, Mr. Nazarov watches as Emeryth Rey garrotes the poor bastard, stopping just before the point of death, multiple times. Before he's done, he experiments with electricity, the lights flickering as he shocks the poor, screaming man.

The sinister pleasure he takes as he tortures the Agent, who was merely following orders, unnerves most in the room. When his victim finally begins begging for him to end it, his eyes crimson from the burst blood vessels, Emeryth ties him to a chair and burns him alive. He sits back, listening to the screaming and casually drinking a scotch on the rocks. Unlike Daniel, his brother's killer wouldn't receive a bullet. When the screaming finally stops and the body becomes stiff, the Director, who was forced to watch, is reminded that should he ever disobey, his wife and two mistresses will suffer the same fate.

“... Who do you think you are?" The Director abruptly chokes out. “You think you can get away with this forever? You think you're stronger than the government?!"

“I'm certainly stronger than you, and if even half of the politisphere is as weak as you are, I'll be picking Presidents for the next forty years... Now get out, and wait for my phone call." Emeryth replies while flashing a sinister grin. “Mr. Nazarov."

“Yes, sir?"

“See to it he finds the door, then bring me the latest files on that congressman. You know... The one with the young boys."

“Right away, sir!"

Eager to serve his new master, Mr. Nazarov grabs the Director by the arm, pulling him away as a mother pulls a petulant child.

“He'll do it to you, one day..." The Director murmurs.

“What?" Mr. Nazarov appears confused.

“A man like him... He won't honor anything." The Director turns to Mr. Nazarov.

“Stop talking to the help and get him out of here!" Emeryth growls.

Mr. Nazarov obeys, but Emeryth can see the change in the man who'd become one of his closer associates. It's as plain as day that his revenge had affected the former KGB operative. Upon returning from his modest mission, Emeryth draws him closer.

“Do you know why I did what I did?" He begins, draping an arm over Mr. Nazarov's shoulders.

“N-no, sir..."

“I did what I did because messages need to be clear... In this game, when power is all that matters and reputation is the currency for attaining it, you cannot afford to have people misinterpret you. Never let them fail to see who you are and what you're capable of." He casually instructs, finish off his scotch on the rocks.

“Yes, sir..."

He learned so many valuable lessons from his brother, Daniel, the least of which is keeping his true motivations to himself. Emeryth is thankful that he never mentioned his brother in his letters to Mr. Nazarov, lest he have some emotional leverage to use against him. He also never reminded his victim of why he was being punished; he simply punished him. It's probably for the best if his men think he's a cold-blooded monster. Taking out a wallet, he retrieves the photograph of himself and his brother, his fingers caressing the only picture he still has of him. Their homes were raided and burned by the agency as soon as they were marked for death.

“You were right, Danny... I wasn't ruthless enough, but I learned... I learned from the best..." He says, staring at the laminated picture, sitting at his desk the following morning. “I followed your lead, and I've built something to be truly proud of. An empire of blackmail, bribery and propaganda. I can finally do what needs to be done... I can finally give this world what it deserves..."