Author's Note: Hi, everyone! This is just a short prologue to what I'm intending to be a pretty long story (just a heads up). Anyways, a few points you should note:
1) Army of Two: The 40th Day spoilers! Enough said. You've been warned.
2) There may be a few facts from the original game that I have tweaked in order to make the story go along, so if you happen to come across something that doesn't seem right, it was done for a purpose.
3) Your feedback is very much appreciated!

That's all. Enjoy!

"You never know how much you really believe anything
until its truth of falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you.
It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound
as long as you are merely using it to cord a box.
But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice.
Wouldn't you then first discover how much you really trusted it?"

- C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed -

[Shanghai, China]

The ambushed metro station was dimly lit and held a faint stench of burning rubber. It was cool down there, compared to the battlefield just outside where the sweltering heat intensified the foul odor of gun smoke and blood. The two mercenaries that burst through the doors for shelter bent over, fighting to catch their breaths.

Tyson Rios looked over at his partner of ten years. Ten years of getting past their differences. Ten years of fighting side by side against a legion of enemies. Ten years of brotherhood that he always knew would eventually end in a well-fought but unmatched battle.

He looked at him now and saw a different man, panting and hunched over with the weight of a friend's death and a failed mission on his back. So different from the tall, lanky kid he first met with an overly confident and happy-go-lucky attitude that constantly made him grit his teeth in irritation.

Ten years. Ten was a big number considering their profession. One would be surprised they both made it as far as they did. But numbers didn't mean anything to Tyson. It wasn't the when that mattered; it was the how. He refused to accept death in any form other than one from a battle he fought well and hard before it took him. Rotting away in a foreign city taken over by a dominating tyrant with the last hope of escape now gone was simply unacceptable.


Whatever emotion Elliot Salem was overcome with, whether it was exhaustion of the job, grief and guilt over Alice's wretched demise, or hopelessness of their situation, it was absent in his face as he straightened himself up. He blankly watched his partner pace back and forth, ranting aimlessly about their mocking fate, when the blood-red poster plastered against the wall caught his eye. Tyson's body became a blur as he focused in on the face of the man responsible for all the damage caused in Shanghai ever since they set foot in China.

Suddenly it became clear what they had to do—the only thing left for them to do. It would be more than justice; it would be closure.

In a low and determined, almost crazed voice: "I wanna kill him."