Wezt Is Going To East (Still Editing)
WEZT,
Fifteen years. That's how long I've been a ghost. Before that? Let's just say it wasn't pretty.
Orphaned young, I learned early on that the world cares little for sentiment.
It's a brutal place; if you're not strong, you get crushed. I learned to be strong. Very strong.
The streets were my training ground. Survival was my only teacher.
I learned to move like a shadow, to anticipate danger, to use anything as a weapon.
It wasn't a life I chose, but it was the life I had.
Then came the Red Dragons-a yakuza gang in Japan. They found me, a scrawny kid with only street smarts and a will to survive.
They saw potential, raw talent that could be molded into something lethal.
They turned me into a weapon. Fifteen years of relentless training pushed my body and mind to the absolute limit.
They honed my skills, refined my instincts, and erased any trace of the kid I once was.
The tattoo on my back is a constant reminder of that transformation-a brand, a mark of ownership, a symbol of a past I can't escape.
I was a tool, a ghost in their service, carrying out their orders without question.
There were missions I'd rather forget, things I'd rather not remember.
But those memories are etched into my soul, shaping the man I am today. They made me strong, efficient, and ruthless. They made me a ghost.
That life ended when I met the Boss.
He offered a deal: protection for his family in exchange for a chance at something else-a life beyond the shadows. It was a calculated risk, but my best option.
I was good at what I did, and he needed someone to handle the difficult aspects of his business.
I was the hammer, crushing opposition without hesitation; the silent guardian, the shadow that kept his family safe.
was a ghost, but finally my own ghost.
Then you came along, and the equation changed.
Now, I'm facing a different kind of battle, one that requires more than just skill and precision.
It requires...something else. Something I'm still trying to understand.
