You and Kovacs have never been friends.

Both of you were mercenaries, but each with his own principles and morality. Frankly, you couldn't stand each other and preferred to be away from each other.

Until one night he showed up at your doorstep, his hand clutching the bloody wound in his side.

"I need your help." Kovacs said, avoiding a direct look. He hated asking someone for help. Especially you.