"Do not mistake me for a fool or unwilling to fight for my beliefs to the last breath, for you will not get a chance to be wrong again. We live in a realm where tangles of lies and deceit draw others in, wrapping their tendrils around them until the lie becomes a perceived reality. The clutch of the perverted fact is like a stranglehold, only released once the source has been found - and it will be found, that I promise you."

"The cliché that I live by is nothing new: the death of a few is better if it stops the death of the many. Being part of the many is advisable, for the few do not last long once they have been exposed. Be you slayer or vampire; witch or were; angel or mortal, my blade and bullets go just as deep should the line be crossed."

"If you can truly say that you are clear of guilt then sleep soundly, for my wrath is not for you. You others, however: no sanctuary walls can obstruct me, no coven is too deep underground for your imminent death to be a matter of 'when', not 'if'."

"Valour is proud of its standards and I don't envy any who deny anyone their birthright: the freedom to make a difference. So long as someone is willing to stand up, put their neck on the line and say 'no' then the spirit of Valour shall live on..."

"This is all we've got on him, something of an enigma, this one..." the private investigator stated as he tossed a thin folder on to the desk in front of him then leaned back in his chair. "A real recluse, keeps to himself a heck of a lot up in that manor of his over in Moscow. Nice place, though, I've gotta admit. Damned if I know how he pays for it, from what I can tell his last real job was some years back."

He paused to light up a cigarette, ignoring the blatant "No Smoking" sign on the opposite wall. "No idea how he pays for it all; I reckon it's got to be something to do with all that time he spends out at night, though if I knew what he was moonlighting as to make enough for that lifestyle then I'd be doing that instead of sitting here. Tricky guy to follow, trickier if you don't like being seen. He's a strange case, no doubt about that. Still, hope this helps..."

The folder contained a single sheet of paper, a slightly blurry photograph paper-clipped to it showing a shadowy image of a figure wearing a Stetson and trench coat.

Name: █████ █████ ███████
Alias: 'Mordent'
D.O.B.: January 10th, 1985
P.O.B.: London, England
Family: Father, █████ ████████ ███████; Mother, █████████ ████ ███████; Sister, Lt. █████████ █████████ ███████
Education: Advanced Materials MSc (University of ██████, 2008)
Occupational History: Circus Performer (2003-2007) - Target Shooting/Acrobat

Notes: Rarely seen in company of others. Seemingly nocturnal. Often travels from ██████ to the centre of Moscow at night. Competent free-runner, ignoring police disapproval (Sgt. █████████ seems to know more) he prefers to travel at roof level. When he does venture down he sticks to alleyways. Almost always seen wearing a black trenchcoat and Stetson (similar to his former stage clothes?). Served in ██████████ in ████, rank of █████████ despite no noticeable commission period. Decorated, but no official ceremony.

First They Came... - Pastor Martin Niemoller

First they came for the communists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.