It was a balmy afternoon on an average day in Moscow, Russia. He had chosen his hotel room carefully. Whilst crossing the reception area, heading towards the elevators, he already knew that he was being followed. Yet, he showed no hesitations and fear. He just kept on striding.
A Ukranian guest who was just checking in. His accent sounded like he was from Donetsk. A concierge handing out a map to a group of tourists, all looking like British. And a security guard, looking bored and exhausted. He saw everything. Still, he hoped he didn't miss a single thing, not matter how big or small it may be.
He didn't wanna be caught in the act. Once seen, all goes south. In his early days, he learned this interesting skill, which seems quite new to him: the art of being invisible. With the outfit he wore – expensive jeans, a v-neck cashmere jersey, and a loose winter coat – had been chosen for it made no statement at all.
The guy was 23-year-old. He had fair hair, cut short, and ice-cold eyes with the faintest trace of hazel brown. He was fairly tall, yet there was some sort of sleekness around him. He strode like a sprinter who was approaching the starting blocks of a track-and-field race. Everywhere he goes recently, there was always this sense of danger surrounding him. A feeling that he should be able to get out alone and unscathed. He kept three credit cards and a driver's license, all issued in Budapest, Hungary, all with the name Jairus McAvoy. If it were a police check, then they would have established that Jairus was an accountant, that he worked in a London office and lived in Brockley. But, neither of this false information is true. His real name is RODION IVANOVICH. He is a superspy in the Crimson Chamber. And he has been one half of his life.
The hotel he was currently in is in Zamoskvorechye District, a district in Central Administrative Okrug with territories of Zatsepa Street and south of the Garden Ring, and its eastern half of the historical Zamoskvorechye area, while the western half is administered by Yakimanka District. An old district like Zamoskvorechye District with its full atmosphere and idiosyncratic (unique or odd) architecture. Visitors who devote an entire day to discovering it will never regret their experience. It is the favorite place for people known as Muscovites to stroll around, with broad sidewalks, stylish lanterns, benches and cycling lanes all add up to it. This is what Rodion preferred. He could have stayed, yet the receptionists present were traied to recognize the faces of the people who passed the doors. Such personal attention was the last thing he didn't want.
A security camera watched him, tracking his movements as he strode over to the elevators. He became aware of the it blinking over his right shoulder - it was irritating to him, but it was inexorable (or inevitable). Rodion made sure he did not lift his head up. Once you stare at a camera, that is the time that they see your face. They find out your identity. He reached the elevators, but disregarded them, slipping through a fire door that led to an emergency staircase. Rodion thought on never confining himself inside a tight space inside a metal box, with doors that he couldn't open on his own, surrounded by strangers. He isn't comfortable with it. He would rather provide himself footwork exercise by walking fifteen to twenty stories if it had been necessary - and when he reached the top, he would not have been exhausted. Rodion had rustled up by keeping himself in a superb condition, spending two and a half hours in the gym when that luxury was available to him, working out by himself when it wasn't.
He was on the second floor, he had checked the hotel on the Internet before he made his reservation. Room number 206 was one of those room that exactly made his demands. The third floor of the Baltshug Kempinski Hotel, that it was too high up to be reached from the street outside, but it was too low for him to jump out of the window whenever necessary, after shooting out the glass.
When Rodion dozed off, he had left the curtains open in order to view the streets for anything conspicuous. Every city has its own natural rhythm, and anything that breaks it. Like a man dressed in dark clothing, lingering in the shadows at an alleyway during nighttime, or a car passing by the same area twice or more. Anything suspicious just might alarm him that he may have to leave immediately.
It was twenty minutes past five since he scanned the entire hotel room. Sitting in front of the desk and opened his 16-inch Apple MacBook Pro. Rodion's password had twelve characters, and he changes it once in a while. He lets out a sigh as he sat straight on his chair and went to Messenger and scrolled down for his friend's name, LEONID OLEZKA. He clicked on his name and a message was sent to him around 4:23 in the afternoon.
"Here it is, Rodion. I hope you do not ransack your surroundings in your hotel room. See you in 20." And a video clip with one minute and five seconds. He huffed whilst staring at the screen. He typed a reply.
"Thank you, Leo. See you, and take care." He pressed the enter button and his reply has been sent to Leonid. He is currently offline - active 6 minutes ago. His heart was racing as he exhaled before dragging the mouse to the play button. Here it is. How his life took a dark turn.
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A/N:
"Good evening, guys! It is me, Gavin or GAV! HAHA! I hope you are having a great night.. or day since I live somewhere in the EAST! Here is the prologue of my remastered fanfiction, "Siberian Tiger"! As you read the story's summary, it is a superspy fanfiction, but do not worry since I will somehow add comedy (if I can)!! Well, I hope you can stick around for CHAPTER ONE of SIBERIAN TIGER! This is DRSTRANGEFAN06 signing off for the night! Goodnight, my fellow Wattpad users!"
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SIBERIAN TIGER
ActionDuring his childhood, Rodion Ivanovich is abducted from his normal life and is given to the KGB to become one of their deadliest weapons. But when he grows older, he somehow finds his salvation and plots to obliterate his new past along with new al...
