It had all started three years ago. I was younger then, and a lot more reckless. I had hitched up with a gang of criminals in one of the darker parts of Alarbor's Underub backalleys. I was angry and wanted to prove myself worthy of respect in the organisation. I'd jump at any opportunity to go out on a "job" with the other felons who hung around. Unfortunately, I'd never seen much action. A little cat-burglary here, an occasional smash-and-grab raid but that was the extent of it. I was hungry for bigger things, practically begging the senior members of the gang to give me a real job.
So, when it came to volunteering for what would become known as the Kamarov Case, there was no way I was letting it slip by. I was ecstatic to be chosen for the team, which I had heard was going to be a major hit if we succeeded.
We planned the whole thing out weeks before it happened, how to infiltrate the Ministry of Federal and State Documents and Law-Keeps. It was harder than it seemed, the building had so many lazers, tripwires and armed sentries it was like a souped-up nuclear hedgehog. None the less, after some extensive reconnasiance we decided on a plan. While the others foxed the alarms, I was to run in and grab our target before the alarms caught me. It was dangerous, exceedingly dangerous. Not only were we breaking into one of the most secure buildings in the country, but we were also stealing it's prize possession. The Kamarov File.
Everything went accoring to plan. The guards never saw us coming and the alarms were shot before they locked onto us. I navigated the passages, twising and turning through the labyrinth like a rat in the sewers until I reached my goal. There, scarcely feet from me, sitting behind a set of state-of-the-art Boltlocks, was the tiny steel-encased capsule known as the Kamarov File. It was just too easy to break the locks, I hadn't spent seven years roaming the Underubs and not learnt to bust a few locks.
But then, something had gone wrong. Unbeknownst to me, I had been followed. Someone had shadowed my steps as I slipped past the guard and dodged the wires and lazers. Someone hell-bent on stopping me from getting what I was after.
That someone was Lucas Wayne.
When he saw me with the File in my hand, he raised the alarm. I'd scarcely managed to escape the guards and had suffered several minor burns from some of the traps. My colleagues had got the shock of their lives when I'd come racing out of the building as if the very hounds of hell were after me. It was by far the closest we'd ever come to capture by the authorities, barely managing to disappear into the tunnels beneath the slums before they were on us. We laughed about it later of course, too ecstatic at our victory to think of the consequences.
Three days later, most of the gang were dead. Shot or killed by lethal injection, found guilty for stealing the file. Those who weren't dead were imprisoned, most finished off either by the guards or mysteriously disappearing some weeks into their sentence.
I was the only one left from the original gang. I was the only one who had avoided capture in those terrifying months. In a last ditch attempt to insure I wouldn't be discovered, I created a copy of the Kamarov file, a false decoy that looked as much like the original as I could make it, and insured it was "recovered" by the authorities.
I still had the real copy on me now. I hadn't told anyone, not even Kris, that I still had it hidden. The authorities were none the wiser either. But still, not even this small victory could replace the pain and guilt I felt at having lost my friends to the authorities all because of my mistake. I hated Lucas Wayne more than any other man in Alarbor. I wasn't going to let him get away with what he had done.
All it took was a few seconds, a muffled cry and the sound of a body falling motionless to the ground. I stabbed Lucas Wayne dead in the darkest back-alley of Alarbor. The authorities caught on and, within days I had been tracked down and sent to the Arena to die a painful death at the hands of the convicts.
And now here I was, cowering in the cell and desperately plotting an escape from the brother of the very man I had killed.
A murderer who would soon become the murdered.