Aimar Bolivar was born in the shadow of mountains, in a decrepit Basque town where silence meant complicity and anger was inherited like land. From a young age, he showed a natural defiance, a contempt for structure, not out of rebellion, but because he couldn't help himself. After enough days of coming back bloody and bruised his father made a deal with the local monastery to take him for a year. A priest named Ignatius Mariá took a liking to him, Mariá was an early supporter of the Basque struggle and saw Aimar's belligerent behaviour as a gift, a simplistic directness that the Basque people needed, and Aimar believed him. When he was sixteen, he and his brothers joined the ETA, carrying rifles and homemade bombs, believing they were soldiers of truth. It didn’t last. One miswired device, one mistake, and his brothers were gone, turned into red mist. Aimar survived. He ran. Slipped across borders, changed names, buried his accent under years of silence. In the UK, he cleaned up just enough to get into the University of Edinburgh, digging into cybersecurity, digital networks, and forgotten occult theory with a religious intensity. He came to believe that technology was the same as magic, it was all a living code that could transformers myth into machine, ancient and modern, blood and algorithm. He saw no separation between the old gods and the new machines. To him, it was all one circuit. Over the years, he built a life on low-level crime. Hacking for hire. Smuggling weapons. Running enforcement jobs across the Atlantic coast of Europe. Always unfriendly, always straightforward, always paranoid. When reality began to bend and myths clawed out of nothing and monsters were being recorded by various government agencies, Aimar didn’t react. He didn’t question it. He just muttered, “Alright” and kept on with his life. He didn’t think the world had changed. He thought it had simply stopped hiding. Now, at 55, his body pumped full of steroids, his veins soaked in alcohol, he lives in a decaying apartment surrounded by machines that hum like ghosts. He works as a Contractor not because he believes in any agency or greater cause, but because they let him fight things for a much greater reward. When something old and terrible appears, when belief twists into flesh and demands attention, Aimar doesn't recognise the severity of the situation. He doesn’t believe in prophecy. He is the prophecy.