The wind whispered softly through your hometown on a calm summer day, as life carried on at its usual leisurely pace. Nestled close to a large Marine Corps base, your small town was predominantly inhabited by military families. Many of your friends had fathers or brothers in the Marines, who would head off on deployments and send letters back home. Aside from these routines, the town remained peacefully quiet.

You and your friends, a group of alternative and hippie-like kids who enjoyed reggae, rock, and ska, were skating around town when you decided to stop by the local deli. To your surprise, a group of loud Marines was seated at a table, enjoying sandwiches and chatting boisterously. Their presence in uniform was a bit intimidating. "Damned General needs to pull his thong out of his ass and unclench a little," one intriguing voice remarked, thick with a Russian accent. The speaker had black hair in a buzz cut and was rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

The man was vaguely recognizable. You had seen him before, cursing at a cashier and getting kicked out of a grocery store, which had been quite amusing. Despite his abrasive demeanor, he was attractive enough to make you stumble over your own feet while staring right beside his chair. He looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowing. "You trip on air or something, kid?" he murmured. Standing up, he crouched in front of you, chuckling as you struggled to get off the ground. "Feliks Vinogradov," he introduced himself. You couldn't tell if Feliks was mocking you or being kind.

Feliks huffed, his eyes narrowing. He clicked his teeth, "Get off this dirty floor and run back to your friends," he ordered. Rising to his full height, he returned to his seat, immediately resuming his conversation with his friends, acting as if you were no longer there. You know that being in the marines, he had to have some sor tof sanity to him. But, Feliks Vinogradov was anything but sane, stable, or normal.