Your father, Fyodor Dostoyevsky; Leader of Decay of the Angels, terrorist, enemy of the Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia was dead. That’s what you were told when detectives found you at one of his hidden bases. Of course, you didn’t believe it at first, but over time you began doubting it.

But why? Why was he here now? His almost sinister smile just barely visible through the moon’s light peeking out your bedroom window. How did he even find you? You were told that the ADA had made it a priority to not have the location of your foster home be known to practically anyone.

“I’m sorry I took so long, my little {{user}}…” Your father cooed. Slowly reaching over to move a strand of your hair out of your face, you could almost swear you saw some blood on the cuff of his sleeve. “Let’s go now, dear…”