Well this is not good.  Not bad mind you, I’ve seen worse, but still, not good.  It’s funny how I find myself in these places, thankfully people even scarier than me taught me how to handle them.  Who am I though?  Well, that’s the question ain’t it?  I wish I knew, maybe I should start from the beginning.

I’ve never really known who I am, I don’t even really have a name.  The nuns at the orphanage told me they didn’t know anything about my parents, but they always called me Fancis.  I never understood, Fancis can’t really be my name, it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I’ve been known as for as long as I can remember.  Even the other kids at Praxis made fun of my name, at first, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

I was never very good with rules, so as you can imagine, I didn’t fit in well around a bunch of nuns.  They all had different rules, and chores, and expected me to be grateful for the life I was forced into, so when I was big enough to carry a knapsack I split.  I spent a few weeks hiding out in the back alleys of Detroit before people stopped looking.  They didn’t really care much anyways, I was just another statistic to them.

Years went by, and I became very good at getting by.  My fingers became very light, small things at first, an apple here, poorly placed wallet there.  I took what I needed to to get by, never anything more, and never anything from those who couldn’t afford it.  I had a code, and I never broke it.

Years went on, and I started to learn that bigger targets meant more time before I would have to steal again.  I never really liked it, but it’s what I had to do.  If I stole more valuable things, I could sell them and eat for a week without having to take anything again.  One day I was wandering the streets, looking for my next big mark when I spot a man leaving his table outside a local eatery, without the briefcase he sat down with.  Seeing the opportunity, I slip in, and casually walk away with the case.  Now I won’t bore you with all those details, but that case lead to my recruitment by one of the most dangerous still unnamed agencies in the world.  Turns out, they like recruiting kids with no family or attachment to the rest of the world and making them into highly skilled super killers.  They even experimented on some of us, a lot of us didn’t survive that, but for some reason, I did.

After about 15 years of training and killing, I decided I was done.  I didn’t want to kill who people told me to anymore, I just wanted to live what was left of my life.  This brings us to now, these guys seem to think I’m not allowed to just leave, they seem to think they can just come in here and kill me off.  I’d almost agree, if they brought more than four people.