He was under a bridge that had local traffic bustling and hustling across overhead in the rain. The dew of the day was total mugginess, yet the sun didn't let the shadows creep urban. -clink- opened the zippo -fwitch- -clank- -clink- -fwitch- -clank- -clink- -fwitch- -clank-. Life had no meaning before you started.. He had those thoughts countless times, never endingly, but they didn't exist. Once his life would start officially everything would be just that, a bliss to remember.

For now the Mohawk, lazily hanging over his face's right eye, brown, was all that he kept from his beginning. The hooded black denim sleeveless jacket, the green camouflage cargo pants, the black suburban combat boots. He could only do this once.

He throttled his motorcycles handlebar. The cruise liner was making it's last preparations, hauling in vehicles, lifting an automobile, no one turned their eyes towards him - the Street Viper. All he would need to do is place the black beret on once across the Pacific to the Baltic Sea. But it'd be black, not red, not green. Not that was ever the plan, he just knew that some people could only dream of those moments. And if he could dream of it for Poland, then he didn't need to rumble with reapers just to prove his motorcycle has a rider, he didn't need to join a gang of Skulls to prove he was better than a Sword Hunter, he didn't need any of those ... Myths.

He throttled his motorcycle again. The ocean, how positively worthless of him to have come here. F- this! Back to Chicago. I'm buying my way across.   ...But the Polish girls there... For now it's about all the girls. And away he went into the light of day. One day for a lady of Poland.