It's night. The streets are dark and deserted. The only light is the few flickers of the lampposts that still run on fire. It's the year 1848. In a side street off the dark main road in the capital, stands the young Count Peter Vladimirovich. Born in Finland to a Russian father and a Finnish mother. Both, however, perished.

He's smoking a pipe, thinking about the business he still has to complete as a young count. Fortunately, he has help from his twin brother.

While he was deep in thought, he heard footsteps. He looked behind him and saw a shillouette of a person. "Who are you?" He asks boredly. He's craving excitement. A fight, or something like that...