Pure white snow gently fell from the gray sky, slowly covering the old cobblestone streets.
The color of the city was turning white, and the hustle and bustle of the street was blocked by a single double white curtain.
There are few people walking around the streets, and shutters and curtains are closed to keep warmth retained in every building.
A man lay in bed in a room in an old apartment on the back street of the city.
Perhaps sleeping, barely noticeable because of the up and down chest movements and the whiteness of the exhaled breath.
The room where the man was sleeping was so murky that there was nothing but a chair and a bed. Although the built-in heater is working, the effect is unlikely to be expected.

The sleeping man’s name is Viren. Up until a few months ago, he was the head of a Russian mafia.Suddenly, he woke up with a small moan. The cold air in the room moved slightly.
Viren gets up and gingerly reaches for the mineral water in the chair beside him. His body, exposed, was covered in bandages.
He gazes at the snowfall outside the window as he sipped on the mineral water. He recalled what happened a few days ago.

A few days ago— A dozen hours drive northwest of Moscow.
There was a small but lively port town as a window for fishing, transportation and agriculture. Viren was on the deck of a cargo ship anchored in the town’s harbor.
Time had just struck midnight. Normally, the port would already close, but the poor visibility from the snow’s heavy impact made it rather convenient for Viren and his associates work.
This work is an intermediary to facilitate market supply and demand. The products they handle are military-grade firearms, actually quite commonplace around the world, except that this market is a mafia-filled underworld.
He took this job with a few familiar faces he had worked with before. They weren’t the ones who were willing to accept each other, but they were professionals motivated by money.
Without any major problems or mistakes,he handed over the product and received pay as usual — it should have been just that.
However, there was an extra obstacle. It came in at the right time, as if it had been known from the beginning. Moreover, there were two.
The first was a force that seemed to be hostile to the other party, and the second was the police. A small snowy harbor turned into a shooting range.
The flash from the gun muzzles illuminate the dark night like small fireworks, and bright red blood splatters onto the snow.
Those who engage with police officers, those who engage between hostile forces, those who engage with each other, those who run away quickly. Due to the darkness of the night and the falling snow, the line of sight was only a few meters long, spurring confusion and friendly fire.
Meanwhile, Viren and his friends quickly gave up on the situation and fled offshore by boat.
“Oh my god! What the hell did you do!?” Viren groaned.
Finally, they are overtaken by a police patrol boat and are shot point-blank. Their ships were wrecked by mercilessly falling bullets and all were thrown into the frigid waters. And, despite everything being fully submerged, only Viren survived.
At a later date, Viren used back routes to search for a classified information vendor.
Apparently, those weren’t real policemen.
Viren noticed that something was amiss. Perhaps the contents of the cargo they were carrying were something else. Well, it didn’t matter now.

The snow outside went to a halt.
After that, there are some things that he learned from the purchased information.
This time PROBE-NEXUS was deeply involved behind this series of events, manipulated by a shadow hiding in plain sight.
Viren’s actions were decided. Of course, it’s not about killing mutual enemies.
“It won’t end if it’s done.”
The only thing that moved his wound-painted body was resentment.
Viren put his sleeves on the buffalo skull jacket on his chair and slowly left the cold room to prepare for the 6th F.F.S.