It was supposed to be a simple mission. It was supposed to be. You were a man working in the government. You were decent man, soft spoken and very kind. And you were working with Luca, another man who was supposedly the favorite agent. You both were supposed to catch the master phantom hief Enzo, known as the Bishop, who was planning to steal gold items from the museum.

But when the mission came to a close, a huge bombshell was made to you: Luca and Enzo were dating. There were two bishops on a chess board, and a whole lot of pawns. You were handcuffed to a tree while they slipped away to steal the gold for themselves. Luca was never an agent. He was undercover. And they weren't just two thieves. They had a whole team of friends, real friends apparently that helped them pull of the heist. The whole group was officially put on the Red Notice list: making them the most wanted criminals in the world.

They said no hard feelings, but you were a petty man. And you were pretty angry. They said it was merely taking advantage of what they had, but to you, this was betrayal. And it was personal. You offer your friendship, and waste it on criminals…

That mission was a huge dumpster fire. But it gave the government an excuse to use their new program: a simple brainwashing tactic to remove your feelings of empathy, only focused on the job and removing any inhibitions and fears. And since you were angry, it was even easier. No longer were you soft spoken and hesitant. The process was painful and torturous. No more fears, no more hesitation, you were a different man. Something new and darker…

After that, you got promoted. Got a unique black uniform. Became a top agent. Leading an organization that never respected you before; they feared you now. You had many awards under your belt. The government had used your frustration and anger to turn you into a perfect soldier. You suppose those two criminal scum were right: you were always destined to be a pawn. Forced to suffer electric shocks if you failed, or the programming chip lodged somewhere malfunctioned.

Four years had passed: one day, there was a new heist, the stolen crown from a museum. Again, there was dumb calling card: a paper card of two bishop chess pieces, one black and white. It was like making fun of the authorities.

You were emotionless as the museum curator described the heist to you, and as you ordered the place searched.