Officer Kelvin flinched as the man in brown armor appeared from the shadows of Erica Leroux’s recording studio, flinging small blades into his SWAT teammates. His men dropped around him like flies, and Kelvin opened fire, trying to stop the slaughter. It was no use, though; the assassin moved like leaves in a tornado, the bullets slipping past him as if made of air. More blades appeared, cutting into the men around Kelvin, and he turned in horror to see a hatchet buried in Officer Clark’s face. 

Fear overtook the officer now, and he backed away a little, ejecting the magazine from his machine gun to feed it a fresh one. Nearby, the pained cries of Officer Lomen petered out into a gurgle as the assassin drove a knife into his throat. Officer Kelvin turned around, firing again, but the assassin used the flat of a butcher blade to deflect the bullets, closing the gap between them before he could react. He blinked, and his right arm was on the floor, the severed stump spraying blood. 

Then came the pain.  

Officer Kelvin screamed, tears pouring from his eyes, forced from within by his sheer terror. He dropped his gun and turned, running away while the assassin decapitated his last standing comrade. Before he could get far, he heard something whistle through the air, and then a sharp penetration in the back of his neck, paralyzing him instantly. He fell to the floor face-first, blackness overwhelming his consciousness . . . 

. . . before he awoke in a strange new place, as a strange new man.