Felix Law's Questionnaire

I live in Whistler, British Columbia, though I head down to the lower mainland all the time. I travelled a lot in my early 20s, and when I had to stop because of my arm, I bough a house on a lake up here. Something about the cold, quiet atmosphere helped me remember my explorations around the world in much better detail. As my livelihood is based on writing gripping tales about the places I visit and the unique things found there, a good place to write just that is necessary.

The house I bought up belonged to an old hunter, who died pretty recently, and his son was moving across the country. I was lucky enough to pick it up right before he left, and for a few thousand dollars extra he didn't even bother taking all the awkward, heavy stuff with him. That means there are three barrels of home-brewed beer, a hunting rifle and a stuffed moose making the home feel more welcoming. Most days I take a late breakfast out by the lake before I start writing. It's a really nice place up here.

When I was 24, I wrote a book called "Lord Eisenberg and the Evergreen", based loosely on a trip to a small antarctic yet tropical island that was covered in palm trees, year-round. The book was fiction, for young readers, but I've been told there was a certain kind of melancholy undertone that made it quite gripping. The hand-sketched illustrations and the fact that I risked my life climbing all four island peaks for the cover photos helped too, I'm sure. But the real kicker came after I published it, when the world found out that that island, wherever it was, had never even been seen before. I don't know if this was just wild random chance, or something more interesting, but it was temporarily closed off to the public for research soon after, and my book became the only available account for what might be going on there. It flew off the shelves, and I was suddenly quite well off for a novice novelist.

I've been writing on and off ever since, with some more, smaller successes here and there. What really kept people reading after the big one was apparently my knack for risking life and limb to find cool, undiscovered places and writing about them. Honestly, I don't even realize how dangerous my escapades usually get until a fan points it out. For the last five years, my extra funds have gone towards travelling the globe, spoiling my niece, buying a new house and car, a fancy meal every now and then, and one impromptu medical procedure. But more on that later.

I love travelling. I've been to every continent, and at least 40 different countries already. My life is basically fuelled by my desire to discover old, natural wonders and explore places nobody ever has. But there has to be more. Ever since I was a kid, I've known in my soul that there's more than just this world to explore. There's some itch in the back of my head, always reminding me of the feeling I get when I jump into a rain forest or see new land off a ship's prow. Then, when I try to find a new place like that on the map, that same itch tells me I'm not thinking big enough. Otherworldly entities exist; they make the news all the time nowadays. I don't quite know what is and isn't possible anymore, but there has to be more.

I'd like to say I'd walk to the ends of the earth for this dream, but the truth is I'd do that anyway. To put it better; every stupid risk I've taken out in the jungle or deep in a cave is nothing compared to what I'd do to find another world. I've never killed anybody in my life, but that might change if it needs to. Like I said, anything's possible.

Right after my 27th birthday, I had a horrible turn of fate. I was deep inside cave on the west coast, closer to home this time. There was an earthquake. To everybody on the surface, it was just big enough to notice, but that is hardly the case when you're underground. Part of the cave started to fall, and I booked it for the exit. Not all of me made it out.

My right hand was free. I called for help. The search and rescue team found me after two hours, unconscious and hardly breathing.

I woke up in the hospital much later. Everything hurt, except my left arm.

I bought my new house a week after I got out of the hospital. I retreated up to Whistler, and I've been there since. This experience taught me two things; my time is limited, and there's only so much I can achieve before it runs out, and I can do a lot less now.

My editor, Saul, is probably half the reason I'm still making money from writing. I feel a little bad about the start of our partnership; since it was my first work he just charged a reasonable premium, and let me keep most of the sales revenue. That book just so happened to sell the best of all of mine. One might think this serves him right, him getting so much money for other people's work, but that's not it at all. He's a terrific editor for my writing style, and actually took a big risk with me just by agreeing to publish. I got really lucky, and with my new books, I try to pay him back for his faith.

My mother, Maya, raised me and my sister almost by herself. She's just about the greatest blessing I could have asked for as a kid, even after dealing with so much crap at the hands of my Dad. It couldn't have been easy raising us by herself, but she never complained once. I visit her every chance I get.

My niece, May, is the only thing that grounds me in the real world. She is the happiest, most adorable, smartest, most talented girl in the world, and she deserves all the nice things. If it weren't for her, I might never come home from my travels.

I had a rather mundane upbringing, honestly. I lived in Port Moody, BC for most of my childhood, with my mom and sister. I never really knew my dad; he left before I was born, when my sister was 2. He paid the minimum he had to and we were collectively content to keep to ourselves and be strangers. Grandma and Gramps were terrific, and they took care of us whenever we needed it, but for the most part it was just the three of us. My mum somehow managed to keep us going throughout all of elementary and middle school, right up until I turned 15, and dad died.

All of a sudden, we were swamped; he'd become very successful in the years I hadn't known him, and he'd had it in his heart to leave us in his will. I'd never expected this kind of generosity from a man I'd written off as a deadbeat as soon as I learned what that word meant. It makes me kind of regret not making any effort, but then again, neither did he.

Yes. Her name is Olivia.

Right after I published Lord Eisenberg and the Evergreen, before it got famous, I met her me at a cafe downtown. She had my book in her hand, and was holding up the picture in the back jacket, trying to match up our faces. Once she'd decided that I was indeed the author of her book, she sat down right in front of me and demanded to know more about my trip. We talked for hours, exchanged numbers, and made plans to get together for a proper meal where she could finally tell me about herself.

We've been friends ever since, and she's even come with me on some of my travels across the world. Right until the accident in the cave. She was out of town when it happened, and ever since I've tried my hardest to put on a brave face. I never told her exactly what happened, but she's definitely figured it out. I just worry that as soon as I confess that I lost my arm, I'll be admitting that our adventures are over.

I don't want them to be over. I love her too much to say that.

I realize I'm really, really lucky. I was born into a family living in one of the cleanest, nicest, most beautiful places on Earth, and after my book I've got more money than I know what to do with. Entitled as this may sound, I'm terrified that I'm wasting this life. I try to go all over the world, discovering new things and meeting new people. I do this because I love it, obviously. But deep down, I think I also do it because I'm so scared of what I'll lose if I don't.

After I lost my arm, something else occurred to me. I might lost this privileged lifestyle I've enjoyed thus far, and not be able to make the most of what I have. One stupid decision, one tragic mistake, one completely unpredictable event that I'll have no possible way to control for could end it all in a heartbeat. I'm not particularly worried about dying. So far, I've made my peace that death can happen randomly. What I am worried about is living without being able to live. If that makes sense.

On a more visceral level, these anxieties I've been dealing with have informed a more present fear of starvation. If you think about it, it's your decision, mistake or unlucky situation that leads to not eating. Then, after neglecting or being deprived for a long time, you lose the strength to move, speak or think clearly. Your last moments alive are spent in your own head, unable to do anything except contemplate what you could have done. Those moments are what keep me up at night.

My most prized possession is undoubtedly my prosthetic arm. I was useless on my first contract, and I only "won" because of other people's preparedness, experience or prowess. Then, I got a replacement for my arm and everything changed. I was able to move, write, act and even make my bed again, the way I remembered! More than that, those powers were especially helpful on my second outing, where I was almost the entire reason we made it through! This arm got my life back on track. I can write, work and function normally again, and I've grown attached to it in a way I didn't believe could be possible for an inanimate object. They say you never know how much you love something until it's gone. They don't tell you that you love it twice as much again when you get it back.

As for more mundane objects that still make my day whenever I think about them, I keep every drawing, picture or card my niece May sends me. She does all the art herself, and she is so talented I can't believe it. I've gotten some of her later ones framed, and they hang up in my kitchen. They're so beautiful, and it's not even nepotism making me say that. She has real talent, and that's just the beginning of how amazing the is.

Airport security. A magical metal arm is a pain-and-a-half when it comes to customs, and international flights are practically impossible if I don't check my arm in my bags.

But seriously, my biggest problem is more existential than that. I was afraid to think about this back when the Earth was my only option, but I've come to realize that my world is too small. I've been nearly everywhere, and done nearly everything that interests me, and I can't stand the idea that there's nothing else to explore. This is where my involvement in the contracts comes in. If my goal from these jobs was just to get a sweet replacement arm, then I wouldn't have come back for a second mission. Now, more than anything else, I want to use the supernatural as a medium for travelling to the most remote, most extreme and most exciting places ever, on Earth and especially elsewhere.

But as it stands right now, that's only a pipe dream, and I have to deal with the claustrophobic feeling sitting in my stomach every time I remember there are precious few new things for me to see when not risking my life trying to see more.

As a writer with a wildly successful series of books basically covering my costs for the next decade, I can afford a almost troublingly lazy lifestyle. Not that I'd be happy with that of course, but some popular hedonistic qualities have seeped their way into my morning routine. For instance, I get up at 10:00 AM most days, and go for a full loop of my forest lake, coffee mug in hand. Sometimes I hike up to the top of a nearby peak and just think. It's strange, but the further I am from everything else, the better I can imagine everywhere I've been.

Failing this, I head to my large basement and do everything I can to prepare for the contracts. This includes physical training, research, tinkering with my arm or just brainstorming new ideas for useful powers to ask for.

It's nearly lunchtime when I get back and have a full breakfast, though I rarely eat any more than I have to before dinner. Chances are I've got some new ideas to jot down, but if not, or if they'd be wasting journal paper, I'll check up on my correspondences online. Of course, I'm always keeping an eye out for strange phenomena, should I be offered another 'job'. But that rarely happens. Usually, you'll find me hard at work at my desk at 2:30, keeping my editor happy with updates and taking regular breaks for my own health or other projects.

I would slip into my black sport coat and matching tie. I've never looked good in a vest, so I plan to ditch the third piece. Otherwise, I'd trim the stubble and stick a comb through my hair in a (probably fruitless) attempt to tame it. I've probably got a pair of leather shoes lying around, so I'd dig those up. If there was still time, I'd down a mug of coffee or black tea just so I'd be awake and alert for the special occasion.

But the big question I'd have to ask is whether I bring my magical prosthetic arm. I've got two spare mundane arms lying about, but not too many people even know I'm missing one. Assuming I kept the wood covered in gloves of some kind, I think I'm set. But it's probably still safer not to go out in public, especially on a formal occasion, flaunting my mechanical appendage.

That being said, if my goal was simply to look my best, that thing is cool as fuck and I'd never even think about putting it away.

I'm going to go to Venice. I've actually been thinking about this occasion for a while, and saving up too. Despite my travels taking me everywhere and then back again, and my frequent trips to Italy and even neighbouring cities, I've never seen the Queen of the Seas. Going there was always something I thought would be my "last adventure", but with my prospects opened up, I get the feeling it'll be far from my last adventure, even if it is one of the few places left on Earth.

I'm already itching to explore the huge central square, and get lost in the alleyways and canals. Apparently, during the quarantine a few years back, the silt in the waters was allowed to rest, and the waters turned from a feculent brown to sea green. I doubt they'll still be that way, but I sure hope they are. Whatever I do or see there, I'm definitely bringing Olivia this time.

This is a tough question to answer. I don't think I've ever made a conscious choice that's led to a worse life, but I don't even know how you'd verify that. I don't even really regret that reckless expedition into the caves that lost me my arm, because that led to me having the coolest job ever!

You know that uncomfortable feeling you always have in your stomach when you realize that there are so many people in the world that have it worse than you? When you understand that your lake-house and writing successes, your travels and relationships, even your genetics and personality, would be the envy of almost the whole world? The best way I can put it is that I regret living my life as though those people don't exist.

Even the goal I've made myself, leaving Earth forever, in search of new horizons, is rather selfish if I think about it. Maybe I should consider changing my thoughts about this. A better goal would be opening opportunities for all sorts of people in these new worlds I find. Maybe building small communities in new frontiers, on unexplored planes for people who don't have much to look forward to here.

I don't have much to look forward to either, but for a different reason. Maybe that's the problem, or maybe that's the solution!

When I began, and even still now, my gifts have always been rather impulsive choices on my part. First was a reasonable fix for my missing arm, and then an upgrade for that so it never broke. Then, one that could heal me in the future, and one that could protect me so I wouldn't need that anyway. Now, I'm beginning to think about what I actually want.

I've come to the realization that travelling between worlds is no mean feat, otherwise there'd be people doing it all the time, and I wouldn't be stuck here like everyone else. However, the ability to get a complete bearing on my surroundings in the normal world would be rather useful too, and interests me greatly. In the future, I hope to gain access to far more powerful magic and technology, and maybe then I'll find my own way around the caveat that the Harbingers apparently don't think of humans as interdenominational creatures.

So far the harbingers have given me everything I wanted or needed, and more. But if they won't grant my greatest wish, I'll do it myself!

I try not to think about it too much, if that makes sense. I’m not one to mess about in the thorny fields of metaphysics, and anybody who doesn’t teach philosophy would probably describe me as agnostic. That’s not entirely accurate either, however. It’s more like I flip between opinions and beliefs when the mood suits me. If it would make sense in the moment to blame or thank a greater deity, then I might do just that, if only subconsciously. If something is so terrible or random that anybody in charge would have no business approving such a development, I would comfort myself in the fact that it’s obviously not an example of intelligent design.

My experiences with the supernatural haven’t done much to change these malleable beliefs. If anything, it’s just given me more excuses to pick either extreme, and nothing more. I think this laisez-faire attitude towards this whole issue stems from just how volatile it can get. As such, no matter what I happen to believe, my top priority when navigating this dangerous philosophical minefield is accepting other people’s beliefs as best I can.

This question has kept me up at night. I've been all over the world, so my "worldview" can be said to be more robust than most. Even so, I would have hardly imagined the supernatural forces to be this omnipresent and this powerful before I started. I've seen enough mundane, yet exceptional things that my first job wasn't a culture shock that hit me at my core, but that doesn't mean I slept soundly when I returned. Nowadays, I try to accept every new development that arises with an open mind; my worldview has expanded to include the events of the Contracts. But every once-in-a while, something happens that really astounds me, and I'm back to square one with a new truth to wrap my head around.

As for how I react, I've learned compartmentalize all the crazy stuff that might have happened, to be processed at a later date. I don't know if this is the healthiest practice, but I'm not going to sit dumbfounded staring at a lava monster if that lava monster is trying to kill me. That mentality has saved me in the past, so it can't be all bad.

I've met quite a few contractors, even after only seven jobs. It's like every contract has a new team for me to meet, which isn't bad by any means, but I haven't gotten to know anyone too well.

However, I've been on two jobs with one Phillip Montague, or "Bumble the Clown" as he's known to the masses. He's exceptionally reliable, and despite his silly demeanour, has managed to pull through in every situation we've been in so far. A reliable and jovial sort by any account.

Another character I've met more than once is Guston, who's a much shadier character than old Bumble. That doesn't mean he's any less reliable, however; he offered his lab to help me recuperate after our first outing, and again on our second. A bit of an enigma, but that's on purpose, and I can't fault him for any of that.

One character I certainly hope to see once more is a man named Abe. I only met him once, but that murderer and I have got a score to settle.

Light from a huge bay window floods past a row of potted plants on the sill. A huge squishy armchair with a lamp and table on either side rest in the only corner that light doesn't touch. A wide desk with enough space for meals, books and a computer setup is illuminated on an angle, and those exact things are spread across the surface.

A twin-sized bed with king-sized sheets takes up the middle of the floor, flowing outward and forming what could only be described as a nest of pillows and flatsheets over the mattress. A few colourful posters and paintings hang all around, and an enormous bookshelf takes up much of the wall opposite the desk. The bookshelf is stuffed with all sorts of curios, books, of course, but also picture frames, figurines, arts and crafts supplies, stuffed animals, and a large bust of Jack Black is perched majestically on the top.

Beside the second chair, a swivelling one for a desk, is a fully-stocked mini-fridge with nothing but hearty, prepared meals inside. A screen door beside the window, leads out to a deck, which has an amazing view of a mountain lake.

If we're talking about my mundane skills outside of the contracts, I am a wildly successful author. I've been told that my writing invokes a kind of melancholy in my readers, not that I'm trying for this effect, of course. Nowadays, my focuses are on my job, but the books I write have taken on a new purpose; an outlet for my new feelings about the world thanks to the contracts.

Writing used to be my livelihood, and still is in the regular world, but I don't consider it my job anymore. If anything, it's my hobby, and acts as a form of therapy. And I think that's how any skill should be, actually. As soon as you take something you like doing and start relying on having to do it to survive, you stop liking it. I was never in a situation that led to me having to fully rely on my work, but I'm not unfamiliar with the effect this can have.

I feel I'm rather lucky in this regard now, however, though fortune is always relative.

Murder is plainly abhorrent. Your life is the most precious thing there can be to you, and if you extend this to another person, than taking this most precious thing makes you a thief among every other label that sticks. The only reason I would ever murder anyone would be if the person in question would do the same to another.

This leads to another personal limit; Injustice. There's no crime greater to me than sacrificing the well-being of another for personal gain. Don't ask me how I function in a capitalist society. I've only been able to come to terms with letting someone escape repercussions when the other option was killing them myself.

As for my deep compassion for Animals, I mostly just can't stand what has been done to the natural world, leading back to injustice. The animals are nature, trying to move on, and cruelty towards them is humans, stopping this. I'm sad so few people think about this issue this way, but I guess it's a function of my own empathy, and how, for most people, empathy extends only to human souls.

Piano Man - Billy Joel: The song is amazing, to start. But more than that, it talks about all these characters who are in the same position as the "Piano Man", and all rely on him somewhat for a form of comfort, even though he's not in that place by choice anymore. "Man, what are you doing here?" was the question, and in reality, Joel was hiding from a bad record deal, but in my case, I'm slogging through the contracts in an attempt to leave this life behind in search of the unexplored. While I'm here, I hope to be able to provide some comfort to the people I'm working with.

Rules of Nature - Jamie Christopherson: I like to imagine this plays whenever I bust out the arm and try to take on some beast I have no business battling. "No guarantee Of which of them will succeed Strong or weak". Granted, I've never taken down a 50-ton mech before, but that doesn't mean I won't, and this will be playing when I do.

Beethoven's 5th Symphony: I was at the height of my life when I lost my arm, just like how Beethoven went deaf at the height of his career. I think there's something strangely poetic about both out positions. Beethoven would have never proven he could still write incredible music even without hearing it, and become even more legendary because of it, and I would have never joined the contracts if not for wanting to replace my missing limb.

Never Enough - Loren Allred: I don't want to consider for too long why this song resonates with me so much. It says something very concerning about my goal in this new life.

Beyond the Sky - Yasunori Mitsuda: I want this so much. I can't understand what it means, but it means something so surely I'm angry that I don't understand.

I think that my ambition will be with me forever, until I find a new one. Right now, all I want to do is find new places and explore, but what happens if I find a place worth more than just exploring? I'll want to make it my own, or else become of it, if that makes sense.

That's not even considering that my current plan is to start hitching rides with my teammates and exploring that way. Who know what will come of those decisions.

Retirement has crossed my mind, yes. I imagine a vast, grassy plain in a world so far from our own that my past actions won't be bothered to bother me. Once I've had my fill of the contracts, and I'm ready for one long downtime, I can see myself lying on that grass and just closing my eyes.

However, I will never refuse the call should earth need to be saved. I love this planet, and this dimension, and if there's a chance of the world disappearing that my "retirement" can wait.

I like to think of myself as a rather tolerant person. I kinda have to be, working with people so unquestionably morally questionable. However, one thing sticks out more than anything else, and when I witness it, all that tolerance leaves me by the quickest route possible. That would be sacrificing another person's well-being for personal gain.

I think this is a product of some personal guilt, funnily enough. My life is rather comfortable, and it has been since I was born. The idea of taking more from anybody is a little alien to me, especially when I have so much. This then extends to when I see someone else doing it, as I subconsciously assume they are as well off as I, and are hurting another person for no good reason at all.

This distilled sense of justice, one might call it, extends basically to anyone worse off or less capable than me, including animals, children, etc. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I feel no such injustice when seeing a very capable or strong person being taken advantage of, as it is very likely they've already hurt those more vulnerable to get to such a position.

Then again, I am a living example of how that might not be the case. Maybe that's why I feel guilty about my good fortune; I subconsciously expect myself to have done something bad to have gotten something good.

As fun as it is to psychoanalyze myself to such a degree, I must confess that there are some more surface level pet-peeves that take precedent.

Namely chewing with your mouth open, coughing without due covering or basically anything that implies a certain disregard for other peoples' well beings.

It all seems to circle back to getting mad when people don't make the least effort to be a good person.

My plans for my future.

I know that normal people run out of time. I don't have to deal with that idea anymore. I've seen plenty of evidence that it's more than possible to ask one's self to be altered to such a degree that you're effectively ageless and immortal.

Now that the time I have might be infinite, so are the places I might be able to see. More than this, if I could somehow continually help people there, I could not only keep seeing new things, but also make them better in the process. I haven't worked out the details, but I do have concepts of a plan. When I'm ready, I will try to transfer my mind into my prosthetic arm.

Nobody knows about this, obviously, least of all my family. I'd be effectively dead if I do this, and that would be quite a weight on their minds. I'm also not oblivious to just how powerful my arm is. I'm going to need many types of insurance that I won't be used for evil when the time comes.

I've actually thought of this too!

If I made it to that level, I would most likely have gone all the way through with my plan. This means I would be aware of all sorts of other worlds or parallel realities, some of which may be suffering from existential problems I could never solve by myself. If it came to it, I would gather contractors to help solve them, and perhaps even go along for the ride myself.

I could empower them during the job, and my numerous insurances would keep me out of harm's way if I get in trouble. I don't know who I might work on the behalf of, though. Certainly, I haven't come across an organization on earth that deals with the problems away from it, though I'd be shocked if one didn't exist.

As for my name, that's been obvious from the start.

I would be Silver Arm.

This really depends on my relationship with them at this point. Just because I worked with them does not mean they are good people. For example, I would have no problem taking the loot off a guy who planted plastic explosives on me, and then leaving his body in a ditch. But if I were to witness the death of an exceptionally good friend and trusted ally, you bet your ass I would do my best to bring them back.

I don't know anyone who could be able to help with this, and I certainly don't want to condemn my friend to a life in undeath, but I would start by attaching my arm to their corpse. It's possible the innate properties that have kept me alive for so long work on the deceased, and equally possible that there's some attribute I don't know about.

As for a memorial, I can't imagine being able to do this and maintain my secret identity. I would grieve them personally, if I liked them, but leave their services to more public faces.

I'm not one for writing obituaries, if you know what I mean.

The simplest and most truthful answer I can give is "with medical gauze". This is exactly what happened on my most recent job, though that, perhaps predictably, led to my abilities becoming notorious, and not my face. I'm not sure if I'll be able to wear my arm in public anymore, but aside from that little mishap, I've done a remarkably good job at concealing myself.

The linchpin for this working is a gift I received very early on in my carrier, a car with the ability to conjure up a clown. This clown, who I've named Bumble Jr., takes care of my house to a superb degree whenever I can't, and has saved my secret multiple times by hiding things or notifying me when people are near.

In short, a combination of careful actions out on jobs, help from friends and the system at large, and a great deal of luck, have kept my life secret enough, and the local law enforcement off my scent, so to speak.

On principle, I do not report my teammates. In my mind, this is a simple matter of quid-pro-quo; our jobs necessitate breaking many rules, unspoken or not, more often than not. Virtuous as I try to be, I would be far from innocent in the eyes of the law should I be charged for all my 'crimes'. Which I commit in the company of my co-conspirators.

That being said, on the few occasions where my teammates have crossed a personal boundary of mine, I have been known to take matters into my own hands when possible. I can't pretend I trust "the authorities" to deal with this indiscretion, so I will. This usually comes in the form of, during the customary healing of all scars after a job, setting a debilitating condition for them to follow such that they cannot take that same action again, lest their scars return.

This may seem a tad cruel, not to mention it's philosophically unfair for me to impose my own morality unto others. But I defy you to find anyone who would disagree with my actions if they had witnessed what I have.

It's always so easy to say "I would never", when you're not on the job.

This question dives to the very core of how I see myself; I'd like to see myself as a moral person who wouldn't abide by any kind of abhorrent cruelty, regardless of circumstance. And, largely, I am. The problem is, contracts are complicated, situations are complicated, and the split-second decisions you need to make that consider both are nearly impossible to think through clearly.

I've done a few things on the job, in the heat of the moment, that I regret. I also regret not doing things that would have sacrificed some of my limits, which is more telling.

The problem is, I don't think there is a line to draw. Just a gradient of red, and depending on how far I step over it, I'll feel worse about it later.

In the moment? I've got a job to do.

Before my third outing, a ghoulish figure rowed through a dense fog that had descended over my lake.

He was riding on a very particular boat; a lifeboat from a crashed transatlantic ship. The very same ship I had been writing about when he appeared. In fact, aside his rather hideous appearance resembling an old cadaver, he was the spitting image of my most recent book's protagonist. Same jacket, same shoes, same sailing vessel.

When I pressed him about these similarities, the man (who introduced himself as "The Colonel") informed me that he had "borrowed" my character's likeness, so that we might have something in common.

We got to talking, and he gave me the job of transporting the worst bird ever across the Russian tundra. I did just that, almost died in the process, and when I met with him again, we shared the damn thing for dinner!

I deduced that he was using the Firebird's magical flesh to sustain his own, to a degree (pun intended), and I can only assume he's done this for a very long time.

I haven't seen him since that fateful Russian job, but damn if he didn't make an impression on me.

I still have a bone of that shitty bird, too, set deep in my left arm.