[b]Two short years ago[/b]

He puffed on the cigarette that was firmly planted between his lips.  His gloved fingers wrapped around his steering wheel, the sun was slowly making its way up, he couldn't be sure how long he had been driving for. All the roads and scenery had blurred. After the boarder there was no turning back. He slowed his car to a crawl and waited as the traffic slowly inched up. He couldn't be sure if they worked with Acadia or not. He had no idea, or if they'd search his car. He had documents which could put a lot of powerful men behind bars. It was his only ticket to freedom, if he kept these then they'd never chase him. 

[i]"God, this is taking longer than usual, why is there even traffic here?"[/i] He thought to himself. He put his cancer stick out and rolled his window down. When the guard approached, he noticed the unusual shaggy beard the Canadian boarder patrol had. He handed him his passport, he was cool, icey cool.  He inched his hand towards the edge of his seat, he had a gun there. Then the man handed him his papers back and let him go. He accelerated his car, and left the gate letting out an easy breath. He was home, and free. He had no idea what those bastards had done to him, but they left him with a wicked head ache. 

After a few stops and a nap he had made it to Empire. He Ditched the car, and burnt it careful to erase any evidence he was there. Made his way down town and checked into a hotel, using cash and an Assumed name. The next few days he spent looking for an apartment, eventually he found a one that suited him, it wasn't too big and flashy but by no means was it cheap or small. He grabbed his few belongings, and left. 

[b]A Few months later[/b] 
He had all new furniture, pictures and posters. His home felt like a real home, something he hadn't had in years.  There were a few places around the apartment which held hidden compartments some for his documents, others for his "defense" measures. He walked into his bedroom, and opened his closet. Originally it had been a large walk in, but he put a false back in and now used it to hold his arms. "God bless the second amendment" he spoke to no one in particular, as he opened the door, and selected a belt and holster. He slid his trusted .45 in, and grabbed his rifle. He closed the door behind him and set out for his contract. 

That night he sat ontop of short office building, looking across several streets, through his scope. He watched his target file papers and work on his computer. Several times he had the opportunity to take his life but decided against it. After all, the man had hired him to watch his back. He was a fresh college graduate who happened to now be an engineer, he was onto something big, an engine that was self sustaining. he thought it would remove our dependence on oil completely. And for that he felt he was in constant danger. 

His head began to hurt, and his vision blurred for a moment, then became acutely sharper. This happened every now and then, it was weird, but it would return to normal after another head ache. A blacked out SUV marked with Arcadia's shield pulled up out front, four men stepped out strapped with SMG's Before they could enter the building, he layed them out. Their life blood seeped into the cracks of the concrete. His rifle was never heard, it being silence. He packed up and moved location, his new location happened to be two floors down, but with line of sight on his target.

The rest of the night wasn't too much of a bother.

He arrived at the mans house early the next day, for a fat paycheck. He  rang the doorbell and waited. A shotgun blast cleared a hole through the door and layed him out on the sidewalk. He sputtered and groaned, blood was dribbling from the corner of his mouth. The door opened and a large man stepped out, he was from acradia, he knew this because they had been friends at one point. Francis McKnight.  "Sorry Buckley" he said in his southern accent. He stepped up beside him, Hal's vision was blurring. He reached upwards, and grabbed onto the mans coat. His eyes were wild with anger, and pain. He muttered two words before falling limp "Fuck you." 

But something strange happened, he woke up in the trunk of his own car, his hand moved to his chest, it felt raw and it hurt but there was no scatter shot wound. He reached into his pocket and lit his lighter, he felt the car bump, his mind was confused [i]"I shouldn't be alive... whats happening?"[/i] He thought. His pistol was in the trunk with him, it would have been okay if he hadn't miraculously survived a fatal wound. He pushed on the square which lead into the cab of the car. He peeked his head through when middle seat folded silently. He managed to crawl half way through before Francis looked into the rear view, both had a look of disbelief. He fired off three shots into the seat, all of them lethal. The car swerved and screeched, they hit a guard rail, then bounced into the other lane and of into a field where the car hit a ditch and rolled. 

After awhile of freeing himself he crawled out of the wreckage and wondered off a few feet and sat down. His chest hurt, because a friend who helped him escape betray him, and cause he was sure there was some buck shot left in him. He rubbed his bare chest and struggled to find a cigarette. "Figures you would have taken them off of me you, rat." 

[b] Present - Empire City [/b] 

He sat at his computer waiting, for an email, one he had been waiting on for a week. His contact had an offer, he was to watch an older man, had a family lived a thirty minutes away. There would be perfect vantage points. His job was to eliminate him if he were to leak any secrets. "Blip" his email had one in the box, it was his contact. "Perfect" he said again talking to himself. He grabbed his rifle, and stalked out of the house. He jumped in his new truck and began his drive. HE'd have to wait until nightfall before he could act. Another long night.