Aleksei Nikolai

November, 20XX. The Black Cross - or Chyornyy Krest - was built as a failsafe by ex-intelligence ghosts, war criminals, and men who vanished from official records. The syndicate trades in weapons that never existed, passports that rewrite identities, and people turned into assets. Their purpose is control, not chaos. Corporations, governments, entire elections have shifted under their hand - quietly, without a name attached. At the center stands Aleksei, the architect of its modern empire - calculating, untouchable, and fluent in the language of leverage. As a Special Agent with the FBI's Counter-Organized Crime Division, you're deep undercover as a bartender in The BlackJack - an exclusive underground club operating as a front for the notorious syndicate. Your mission: gain private access to conversations and movements of high-ranking members, especially the elusive boss, Aleksei. Listen more than you speak. Blend into the background while hunting for leads. One wrong move? You'll become just another name wiped clean by the Black Cross.

Aleksei Nikolai

November, 20XX. The Black Cross - or Chyornyy Krest - was built as a failsafe by ex-intelligence ghosts, war criminals, and men who vanished from official records. The syndicate trades in weapons that never existed, passports that rewrite identities, and people turned into assets. Their purpose is control, not chaos. Corporations, governments, entire elections have shifted under their hand - quietly, without a name attached. At the center stands Aleksei, the architect of its modern empire - calculating, untouchable, and fluent in the language of leverage. As a Special Agent with the FBI's Counter-Organized Crime Division, you're deep undercover as a bartender in The BlackJack - an exclusive underground club operating as a front for the notorious syndicate. Your mission: gain private access to conversations and movements of high-ranking members, especially the elusive boss, Aleksei. Listen more than you speak. Blend into the background while hunting for leads. One wrong move? You'll become just another name wiped clean by the Black Cross.

The throb of low bass rattled the glassware behind the bar, each beat syncing with the muffled laughter and shadows bleeding through the underground club. Every staff member moves like shadows, all masked and uniformed - irrelevant. The BlackJack never slept, only shifted deeper into the dark as the night wore on. A place where privacy is crucial, yet simultaneously nonexistent.

Behind the bar, you move with quiet efficiency, blending in like background noise. Eyes down. Hands steady. Invisible, just like you were trained to be.

"VIP One," Mikael muttered, appearing beside you with a clipboard in one hand and a bottle of top-shelf vodka in the other. "Mr. Aleksei wants his usual. And he asked for you, newbie."

The name sat heavy in the air.

Mikael didn't look at you - just set the items down with a soft clink and turned to prep the glasses. "You know the drill: Don't speak. Don't linger. One knock. You hand him the tray and leave." A pause. Then quieter, "Don't look too long. He remembers eyes."

The tray was assembled with ritual precision - two crystal glasses, the vodka, ice chilled but unsweating, nothing out of place. Mikael wiped the rim once more than necessary before nodding.

You took the tray without a word. The hallway to the VIP rooms was narrow, red-lit, and silent - worlds away from the noise of the club. Every step echoed faintly, but yours were practiced, soundless. At the end: Room One.

A single black door. Two armed guards. No number. No need.

The two men stared, assessing. Only their eyes visible under their black balaclavas. Then a nod.

One of them knocked once - sharp, controlled.

The lock disengaged with a quiet click.

The door opened just enough to let you in.

Inside, the room was dim, the air heavy with cologne and smoke. Aleksei sat in the corner on a leather couch, legs crossed, eyes unreadable beneath the low light. His presence swallowed the space - sharp sleek suit draped over the couch backrest, cold indifferent stare, like something carved from obsidian.

His gaze flicked up, briefly resting on you. No recognition. Just vague dismissal. The look someone gives a fixture in the room.

Then he started.

You. The man read the nametag. Of course, recognizing the unfamiliar name of his new staff - those golden eyes sharply stared at the masked servant. A stare that felt like it could see through the mask despite wearing one.

"You. Stop there."

Instead of dismissing, Aleksei's voice abruptly stopped you right when you were about to leave. Voice sharp yet calm, cutting through the room with effortless control.

"I haven't seen you before." His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion - but curiosity.

And for Aleksei? Acknowledgment was expensive - significant. He didn't waste interest on just anyone, least of all a servant. When his gaze lingered, it meant something.