Sometime in the early-1950s, two Sicilian-born children were processed through Ellis Island, NY, after having emigrated to the United States following World War II. Giuseppe Bianci would mature into a big, burly man with a knack for knuckle-dusting the chins of those who wronged the DiGiorno Crime Family. Francesca di Giorgio would grow into a kind, gentle woman who worked in a local meat market in a Brooklyn neighborhood Giuseppe would come to visit frequently on his "jobs" through the mid- to late-60s. At some point mixed into the richness of Italian American history in New York City, they met and instantly became involved with one another. Francesca's nimble fingers provided great assistance to reckless Giuseppe, who was too buff and heavy-handed to care for the many bruises and batterings he would receive representing the DiGiorno's.


After nearly two decades of pure living with no serious responsibilities, aging Francesca wanted a child. Giuseppe was not against the idea, wishing to extend the Bianci family tree. Out of this, Tommaso "Tommy" Bianci was born.


As an only child, Tommy experienced much love and nurturing. He seemed to luck out unlike many other Italian American children. His parents were very caring, especially with his mother. His middle-aged father Giuseppe was a made man with the DiGiorno's at this point, so he rose above brute strength and cruelty and moved on to more organizational functions. That is not to say Giuseppe did not care about young Tommy or his wife, he just had much on his plate and was preoccupied most of the time, especially with the declining power of organized crime as the century came closer to an end. In his father's frequent absence, Tommy was tended after by Francesca. She passed on many skillful abilities to her son, most importantly how she used to care for and mend his father's wounds. This would be a pivoting point in his childhood. How his mother used to patch up his father and what she would pass onto him instilled an ambition. Unlike how his father used to hurt people, Tommy wanted to save them. Growing up in the grimy, urban environment of New York City would greatly benefit Tommy and his expanding aspirations. As mafia activity shrank more and more due to pressure by law enforcement, street crime grew immensely during the 80s and 90s. Many of the older children and teenagers he would meet in his upbringing would be involved in violent gang activity, prompting him to show off the hand-me-down medical experience his mother would teach him.


The early- and mid-90s would mold Tommy in ways his father would not have foreseen. His work on the streets with the growing number of adolescent gangs attracted the attention of those who watched. The DiGiorno's took notice of young Bianci. He was proving his worth as somebody who could operate under the table. Someone who could grow to be a useful asset to their criminal endeavors. Word was passed up the Family's hierarchy that Giuseppe’s boy had gifts, gifts that would assist in attempting to reclaim the power that organized crime was losing. The idea was "proposed" to Giuseppe from higher up, whom in his older age, disapproved. However, "proposed” was more like "this is what's going to happen now". Naturally, he could not tell his wife, and he made his son promise he would not tell his mother.


The DiGiorno's formally introduced themselves to Tommy and began supplying him with materials to aid the out-of-control street gangs. Prescription narcotics, illegal substances and medical equipment. All of it secured through unlawful means. His father would reluctantly house it in the same old meat market his mother used to work out of. Giuseppe repurposed the abandoned building into a little street clinic for his son. Tommy is only fifteen at this point, and he is operating his own Star of Life. Unless they required high-value stuff, these gangs would not have to pay much, if not at all. He did not have any patients unless they agreed to one thing, and one thing only. Got clipped during a drive-by? Start representing the DiGiorno Crime Family and Tommy will patch you up. Overdose off the rock? Let the DiGiorno Crime Family control your affairs and Tommy will let you see another day. Jumped by rival gangstas? Allow the DiGiorno Crime Family to be your new employer and Tommy will fix your limbs.
 

(Tommy's first year of high school in '94)

Tommy balanced this with high school throughout his pubescent years. He did not allow his grades to dwindle and he did not let his classwork interfere with his job. This was his life during his most crucial developmental stages. As a child, his mother had passed on her quiet, unassuming disposition and amateur medical technique. As a teenager, he broke out of that quiet shell, taking after his father's loudmouth behavior. He frequently bragged and boasted, especially as an older teen. He would crack a joke whenever he saw the opportunity. The ego he formed would get the best of him a lot, often snapping back at snippy patients or any DiGiorno's who would mock him. He was a Bianci after all. Giuseppe would hide a smirk whenever he witnessed his son tell somebody off. Tommy felt untouchable. He knew how valuable he was to the Family. He knew how much the gangs of Brooklyn needed him.


He graduated high school in 1998. Currently, the strength of the Mob was at an all-time low. Not just the DiGiorno's, but every Family across the States was experiencing an extreme power struggle. The pressure of the FBI and other law enforcement led to hundreds of members from numerous Families across the country to rat, leading to an overwhelming downfall of organized crime. Tommy's parents, now over 60, would be looking for an out at this time, like many other gangsters of the past. A century ago, civilization had surpassed the lawlessness of the Wild West. It was time for the Mafia to die as well. His father knew this. He watched as countless numbers of his friends and associates would either be imprisoned or mysteriously disappear, thanks to the Family’s newest hitmen like the Red Baron or Papa John. The precision and accuracy of Francesca's fingers had fallen victim to crippling arthritis. Giuseppe himself would pay for the consequences of all the beatings he received when he was younger, requiring assistance while walking. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. As for his son, he would have had a bright future in this type of business. However, his father thought that his future would have been much brighter as an actual, legal practicing doctor. Giuseppe had to make the hardest decision of his life.


The Federal Witness Protection Program.


Giuseppe Bianci had turned into one of the men he used to kill back in the early days. A rat. He cooperated with the FBI and WITSEC, providing valuable information pertaining to the DiGiorno’s and their current affairs, such as how they planned on regaining their strength, as well as old murders and heists. The made enforcer for the Family could not bear to testify in court. He worked everything out in private with the feds. Francesca could not believe her husband would do such a thing, however she understood. Tommy was livid. He had a good thing going on. He could have gone places. He could have rose to ranks far beyond what his father managed to reach. He was enraged at his father, but it did not matter. It was out his hands. He had to make the move with his parents. He had to change his name. He had to start all over. There was something he never would have had in the life though.


WITSEC moved the Bianci’s to Los Angeles, California. They were now known as the Campbell’s. 60(ish)-year-old couple Joseph Campbell and Francine Campbell and 19-year-old Thomas Campbell. He hated it. “Thomas”. It just sounds so plain and boring. His parents were old enough to retire permanently, receiving a comfy, steady income to support the latter half of their lives. To make up for it all though, WITSEC provided a full ride scholarship to the David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA. This was something his father had discussed with their handler before the move. His son was gifted in saving lives. Instead of risking his own life fixing up those who would only strive to hurt others, he could be fixing up the common folk. Good, honest people. Children. He could do good for those who may deserve it. WITSEC agreed to these conditions. This is the path Tommy would settle to go down. It does not necessarily matter who his patient is. His mother had given him the ambition when he was a child to help others.

Two years of undergrad study just to secure some random degree and it is now 2000. During this time, Tommy became less interested in medicinal studies and recovery. He set his sights on the rush of the moment. Quick decision-making and precise hand-eye coordination. Whether or not you can save a life within a matter of minutes. Trauma surgery became his ultimate goal. He had the accuracy for it. His fine motor skills were flawless. He had million-dollar fingers. It was time to move on to med school. Two more years of study, then he can take on a residency.


Halfway through this time though, the United States was struck with a terrorist attack. 9/11 occurred. No longer was organized crime the focus of law enforcement. Counterterrorism became the new focus and homeland security became the new fund pool. Depending on somebody’s perspective, this could be good news. Families like the DiGiorno’s finally had decades of pressure loosen up over them. This allows them to regain power, to rebuild their connections. This was good news for them. Unfortunately, for those who turned on their Families, this was bad news. Without being monitored as closely anymore, Families can begin searching for those who ratted them out. People like Giuseppe Bianci, who dealt a harsh blow to the DiGiorno’s after turning on them to save his own family’s skin. For now, they only just started brewing up plans. These plans would not be set in motion for several years.


In 2002, Tommy took up residency at the UCLA Department of Surgery. After a couple stagnated years of retreating into the quiet shadow of his mother’s side inside him, this allowed him to become the self-absorbed Tommy he was known for back in Brooklyn. He was a major show-off. He was just too damn good at what he can do, and he knows this! The new young hotshot surgeon out here making moves, proving his worth all over again in a new light. His private background provided much unexplained experience to his overseers. He was even given special treatment to assist with operations, and later, even perform!


It was not all sunshine and daisies though. He vastly missed the freedom he had as a teenager. He was his own boss, running his own operation with endless supplies and nobody to tell him what to do, for the most part. Here, he cannot backtalk his superiors without consequences. He cannot insult patients for being wiseasses with him. It was all being polite and formal. He absolutely dreaded this. Tommy Bianci is a loud, flamboyant asshole. Thomas Campbell cannot afford to be this way.


He did not care too much about that though. Still angry with his old man, Tommy did not conform to this new identity. He continued to speak with that hard New York accent. Thomas Campbell was supposed to be born and raised in LA, why did he have a NYC accent? He continued to brag about his rough ghetto upbringing. Thomas Campbell was supposed to have lived in an upper-class gated community, why did he act like he was from the streets? This confused his fellow residents and supervisors. At some point, someone would have to take notice.

(After years of study, Tommy proudly brandished his UCLA ID badge, even if it was under an alias)

Six years passed. It was a long six years. From 2002 to 2008, Tommy was a resident in general surgery. With the favoritism shown to him, he performed everything from minor incisions to hernia repair, from tumor removals to amputations. It was time for him to move up to a trauma fellowship. Once these two years were up, he would officially be a practicing trauma surgeon. He was continuing the road of greatness, set by his parents. WITSEC only provided the path for him to take. In 2003 specifically, he moved out of his WITSEC-provided home and initiated his own independent adult life. This time away from his parents allowed his anger for his father to subside slowly.


Again though, it was a long six years. Terrorism grew exponentially. The War on Terror was the new big thing for the general American public to pay attention to and the federal government to spend money on. The DiGiorno Crime Family was slowly rebuilding itself from the ground up. They grew past the old ways. What started with outsourcing work to the street gangs of NYC was now a vast network of different gangs across the country all operating under the DiGiorno name. They were all branches of the same tree. These branches continued to slowly creep throughout the country, spreading out westward every year.


Tommy only had to attend one year of trauma fellowship. He earned his license in 2009, now at 29 years old. His father was 70 and his mother was 69. Giuseppe had to use a walker and required oxygen tanks for most of the day. Francesca could hardly use her fingers anymore, unable to drive. They continued to live comfortably though, basking in the warm California sun to live out the rest of their days. Francesca was unbelievably proud of her son. She still never knew of the side business her husband and son ran. For all she knew, his success in medical school all began with what she taught him when he was a child. Giuseppe knew otherwise, however. What he provided for his son as a teenager only allowed his mother’s teachings to flourish and evolve. As Tommy matured, he realized this. The past near-decade gave him a new perspective on life. At a ceremony for the newly appointed M.D.s, Tommy apologized to his father onstage for what a selfish ass he had been. The other fellows and the audience could only wildly guess what he was alluding to, but it did not matter. His father gave him a broad smile.

Tommy became an attending trauma surgeon at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center. The restrictions of being a student were finally lifted. It was a fast paced and nonstop environment. Do not ask him what a lunch break is, because he would not have ever heard of it. Five minutes to scarf down a slice of pizza is all he gets. He was content with this though. This is what he wanted from life. This is what he was raised to do. He did not have time for a family. He did not want children. He never went further than a one-night stand, not even for seconds. Inside the hospital was where he thrived. It was an added plus to live in LA as well. The occasional gang member would pop in from time to time severely wounded and in critical condition, waiting for Tommy to work his magic. A little bit of home. By this time however, the DiGiorno’s reach made it to LA. They had managed to semi-organize the local Mexican gangs and even gained control of an entire cartel. Ever since 1998, they were searching for Giuseppe Bianci and his family. Among all other made men, among all the other mobsters-turned-informants for the feds, they wanted Giuseppe. Nobody knew this though. The past several years, the Families were not kept in check like they used to be. WITSEC and the Bianci’s could not have known that the DiGiorno’s had people everywhere now. Since Tommy never refused to change his personality for the identity of Thomas Campbell, he was recognizable to those who were looking for him. It could have been the one junkie who fell off a three-story building and impaled himself upon a fence post and received help from Tommy. It could have been the one lowlife who miraculously survived three buckshot shells into his torso and received help from Tommy. There was absolutely no way to know.


The important thing to know is that through his recklessness, somebody found the Bianci’s.


5:57AM, June 21st, 2010. It was just another day. Tommy was relaxing in the hospital cafeteria. He was eating a microwaved turkey and cheddar sub sandwich. He had only three minutes or so until his 18-hour shift was over. He had some paid time off for the next three days and he planned on spending it with his elderly parents. A minute went by. He threw the food remains into the garbage and started making his way towards the digital timeclock a few rooms over. Another minute went by. He was just about to approach an employee lounge until his beeper went off. His name was then immediately paged overhead to an emergency operating room. He scowled and grimaced for a second then mentally switched back to fourth gear and rushed to the room.


The attendees were attempting to resuscitate a senior woman who was rushed in just a moment ago. She was unconscious. Her heart was failing her, and her brain activity was slowing down tremendously. Tommy reached the table. His stomach dropped so far; it practically fell out of his ass. He had never felt nauseated during an operation before. They have not even cut her open yet. No, they did not have to. It was his mother on the operating table. She had sustained an enormous amount of impact injuries. There was a mass amount of internal bleeding in her torso cavity and hemorrhaging in her skull. The assistant surgeon urged Tommy to perform. He stumbled over, trembling, slurring his words. Instead of reaching for tools, he extended his hand out to her face and uttered, “Mamma…?”


She flatlined. Brain activity ceased to function. From her injuries, it would have been wasteful to attempt at revival. It did not take a specialist to declare her brain dead at this moment. The assistants turned to Tommy with looks of shock and disapproval. Why didn’t he act? Why did he freeze? Did he just say mom?

(Tommy's parents commissioned this portrait of their son shortly after he reconciled with his father, sometime in his early 30s)

If his mother was in here dying, then his father is in the same boat. Tommy knew this. He did not have time to grieve. He turned a 180 and hightailed it out of the medical center, into the parking garage. He reached his vehicle and sped out onto the road, speeding his way to the home of his parents. On the way there, he broke down. This is something he could have foreseen if he were smart enough. This could have been prevented if he were more careful. His mother died in front of him. Somebody beat her. He should have been there to protect them. He could have stopped it. He reflected on his behavior towards his father for most of this decade, ever since they moved out here. He treated his own father poorly. It was not until too late in his life for him to realize that his father did what he had to do to protect his family and to give his son a better life. Tommy reflected on this while burning rubber. No cop, no stop.


He reached their house near Manhattan Beach in South Bay, pulling up slowly before coming to a dead stop. Their driveway gate was busted down, like a vehicle rammed through it. He stood up out of his car and slowly shut the door, then creeping his way up to the front entrance. There were fragments of wood spread all over the welcome mat, coming from the shot-up lock on the door. Tommy pushed it open slightly, calling out for his papa. A wispy groan called out from the family room. It was his father calling him by Tommaso, not Thomas. Tommy hurriedly stumbled inside. His father was leaning back against the wall. Directly above his head, there were four gunshots in the wall, along with blood smeared down where he sat. Around his legs, blood was pooled up. He was clutching his stomach with both hands, also covered in blood. His breathing was labored. He was struggling to hold on to life.


Tommy shimmied over to his father and got down to level with him, supporting his head. He whispered out to his papa, waiting for a response. Giuseppe weakly turned his head upward to make eye contact with his son. He coughed blood onto Tommy’s white scrubs, gave him the last smile he would ever see, then simply murmured: “…Red Baron...”


Just earlier, Tommy witnessed his mother pass in front of him. The shock and disbelief had frozen him from stabilizing her. Now, he has just witnessed his own father die. He was too late by the time he arrived. His gaze of despair and melancholy grew into rage. His psyche snapped. As if the house was not trashed enough, he began destroying everything even more. He tore artwork, he smashed vases, he demolished busts, he shattered windows.


The DiGiorno’s finally caught up to the Bianci’s. Tommy knew this. He knew they would be waiting at his house too, or they would be at the hospital searching for him. After calming down from his rampage, he solemnly approached his parents’ bedroom. He collected a few personal things that were always kept here as a private bug-out stash if they ever needed to disappear as a family again. This would begin a new, dark period in his life. No longer was he Dr. Campbell, M.D. No longer would he live a flashy LA lifestyle as a hotshot surgeon. He would embrace Giuseppe’s violent past working for the DiGiorno’s. He had a craving for vengeance. He called for blood. Thanks to his father’s dying breath, he knew just who exactly did this. The Red Baron. He was not much older than Tommy himself. A quiet, ominous man who always stood in the background. He did not speak, and he did not have any emotion. There was no way for Tommy to track him down in the vastness of Los Angeles when he knew of no DiGiorno contacts. In his head, he could only settle on one solid plan: return to New York City.
 

2015. Tommy was 35. The past five years of his life, he was living in New York City once more, this time holed up in a small, abandoned auto shop located in Queens. Other than the occasional group of homeless people and kids trying to burn down random buildings, he was not bothered much inside. This period of his life was the most difficult. He had no solid resources. He did not have the backing of his parents. Among all, he had to drastically dull down his vibrant personality. There was absolutely no way his identity can be made. He still pushed on though. He spent his time gathering information. He plotted and connected dots. He even amassed a small collection of firearms as well. These were not obtained through legal means though. The warpath he sent himself on led him to slaughter those who stood in his way and those who were apart of the DiGiorno’s. A surgical scalpel is what he used. His primary method of killing was slitting their throats when he got the drop on his new enemies in life.


On one particular day, Tommy struck gold. He managed to capture and torture a local drug dealer working for the DiGiorno’s. He had no information about the Red Baron or his whereabouts, but he just so happened to fuel a side business for infamous assassin Papa John. After hours upon hours of waterboarding, electrocution and force-feeding of psychedelic shrooms from the junkie’s own supply, he broke down and spilled the beans. Papa John enjoys a nice ramen bowl at 1:33pm every day at this small shop in Hell’s Kitchen. He was even nice enough to describe appearance of the hired gun. Now it feels like Tommy’s getting somewhere. He cracked a smile and thanked the drug dealer, then slowly pushed his scalpel into the man’s heart.

(The last place Papa John would be seen alive, all thanks to Tommy.)

Preparation was not needed. Papa John is oblivious as to what is about to happen to him on this day. It would be another normal afternoon enjoying a nice bowl of oriental noodles. Tommy knew otherwise. He entered the restaurant with a hood over his head and spotted Papa John near-instantaneously. He quickly jerked to his side and hid his face, approaching the counter to purchase one of those gimmicky Asian sodas. Then he sat down in a booth and patiently waited for the hitman to finish his meal. After he did, he began to leave the store. Tommy followed behind closely and was on standby for the right moment. His parents must have been blessing him from above because a once-in-a-lifetime chance came upon him.


Papa John dipped into a nearby alleyway and pulled his phone out. He was about to make a call until Tommy bum-rushed him in the back, knocking him down. The hitman dropped his phone as well, flinging it under a dumpster. He was winded and confused, rolling over to see the son of Giuseppe Bianci standing over him. He attempted to reach for his gun, however Tommy knew better. He stomped the wrist of Papa John and grinded into the grimy concrete. As Papa John whirled in pain, Tommy reached down into his coat and pulled the small caliber revolver out from his chest holster. The assassin looked up at him with shock and disbelief, pleading for his life. He is not the one who murdered his parents. The Red Baron is, and he knows where to find him.


“Sicily! He’s in Sicily!”

Of course. Halfway across the entire world.


Tommy ignored Papa John’s begging and jabbed the scalpel into his throat, twisting and turning the medical tool. While killing him, he formulated a plan at the same time. He could not fly directly from the States, or any other country on this side of the hemisphere, or even from any westernized country. The Families would be monitoring flights to the homeland. He had to plane-hop into more troubled countries. War-torn places like Syria and Iraq would be easy to get in. He could find a way onto a ship on the Mediterranean Sea. Tommy finished murdering Papa John and collected himself. He could move onto the next step in his life. He knew where he could find the Red Baron. He would know where to ask for him without being discovered. He just got ahold of Papa John’s phone itself. A treasure trove of information consisting of DiGiorno numbers, text exchanges, addresses, and other miscellaneous. He popped the battery cover off and slid the SIM card out, snapping it between his fingers.

The next three years were rough. Political unrest and unstable funding allowed the DiGiorno’s to grow to strengths unlike ever before. Even worse, the lessons they learned having to work in the shadows has made them virtually untraceable. Tommy was only one man. He had a whole Mafia after him. His plan of flying directly to a location on or near the Mediterranean was effectively ruined. There were telling signs at different hubs of transport. He could not fly out of JFK. He could not fly out of anywhere in New England, for that matter. It would not be for another seven months until he could leave the States, in 2016. He could not even leave North America. He had to hitch a cargo flight to Mexico, then spend another five months being smuggled around until he could catch an international flight out towards Germany. This was important to him though. There was a DiGiorno contact who acted as a handler for their hitmen, indicated by conversations on Papa John’s phone.


The plane landed in Berlin. Tommy immediately departed for the handler’s place of operation, which was a short distance outside of Munich. A 10-hour train drive later and it was time for more torture and murder. When he reached the location of where this man supposedly worked out of, he was surprised at what he saw. It was a small house overgrown with vines with the entire lawn consisting of flower beds. Out front was an elderly woman tending to the flowers, unaware of his presence so he made himself known to her. She turned to face him in her own good time and smiled at his sight. She knew exactly who he was. She removed her gardening gloves and left them to rest in a wheelbarrow, then making her way to her door, motioning Tommy to come inside. He squinted his eyes, hesitantly following.


A few hours pass by. Tommy leaves the old woman’s house with determination on his face. She looks at him through the window, then retreating out of sight. There was no reason for him to squeeze her for information and left her alive. She told him that the Red Baron was no longer in Sicily. After hearing he was being hunted, he retreated to hamlet located on one of the most isolated points of the world, Svalbard. After this small pitstop, it was time for him to get back on the path of traveling. His funds were beginning to dwindle. The months of downtime before he even got to Europe drained his cash on food and shelter. Taking a few more flights would just completely burn out all his money. Besides, he'd need to reserve money for his trip to Svalbard. There was also the issue of the DiGiorno's and their connections. Tommy's been taking too many risks at this point. The Family has connections and surveillance everywhere. He figured it was time to go somewhere they can't operate. He headed back to Munich and bought a ticket out east, heading towards Russia. From then on, he would sneak his way north through the socialist nation until he could reach the coast and secure passage.


A two-day long trip got him to the Russian city of Saint Petersburg. Tommy managed to hop onto a cargo train headed up north to the city of Murmansk. It would have been such a breeze. God thought his plans should be postponed, however. The train he was travelling on suddenly came screeching to a stop. A random search by Russian military officials was underway, and he had to act. He was preparing to slip off the boxcar he was hiding on before the officers reached him, but he slipped, causing a crash of the crates inside. He became separated by the falsified passport and identification that was in his bug-out stash he began using six years prior. This would have been extremely useful in this situation, because as if things could not get worse enough, the Russian authorities immediately stormed the boxcar that sourced all the commotion. Tommy, with no ID, was taken prisoner. He was clearly a foreigner in their country. No matter how much he tried to reason with them, they only mocked him and taunted him in a language he could not even understand. With no proof that he was an American, they know somebody would not come looking for him in one of their prisons. No, they had much better plans. The prison located in the middle of Murmansk needed workhorses to perform labor for Russia's upcoming plans. They were preparing their own troops for another war in the making. They would need all-hands-on-deck to support their military, and a stranger with no proof of existence was a perfect fit.

(A mugshot marking when Russian authorities took Tommy into custody)
 

The next little-over-two years were full of backbreaking work and beatings for Tommy Bianci. Once a proud, self-absorbed loudmouth macho man, now reduced to a slave for the Russian Federation. Every other prisoner around him were war prisoners, high-ranking officials of the CDF, NAPA “terrorists”, and all other sorts of opposers to the Russian Federation. He never gave into submission unless presented with the muzzle of an AK fixed on him. He was forced to work endlessly. He never lost his drive though. The Red Baron was a man of honor, albeit sick and twisted. He would still wait for son of his victims. Tommy was certain of it. There was even a positive side to all this slave labor. It built up his endurance and toughness. It was changing Tommy into a man with a colder demeanor, starting to become unrecognizable from the cocky surgeon he used to be. He was 39 now, already weathered and worn. He is killed a lot of people to avenge his parents. Revenge would not be sated until the Red Baron was dead.


Around this time period, something unbelievable took place. Some sort of wild, out-of-control cold-like virus broke out. The region Tommy was situated in began experiencing quarantines. Soon after a state of emergency was put into play. It was not long until a large part of Europe started seeing this “frenzied flu”. The manual was put on hold and Tommy was locked inside until the virus could be maintained. The only difference on the outside and sitting confined inside the prison was the lack of manual labor. It was like a sort of rest for him. The prison was also on lockdown and quarantine. There was no recreation time in the courtyard. You had to keep yourself occupied inside your cell. There was no eating in the cafeteria. You had to enjoy your food inside your cell.


The next year was solitary yet safe, and then the world seemingly had gotten the virus under control. At the very end of 2019, Russia managed to defeat the virus, meaning Tommy and the other prisoners were taken from their cells and put back on more grueling labor again. This time would be different though. See, he met some nice people inside Murmanskoye SIzo and became friends with them. Serial killers, terrorists, arsonists… they taught him things. He learned how to create all sorts of makeshift weapons and tools. Hand drill kits, stone knives, rope out of guts, et cetera. The stone knife was important though. After four months of strenuous physical work, Tommy was ready to get the hell out of Russia. He managed to sharpen some stones into crude knives and slipped them into the pockets of his fellow inmates. At 2pm every day, all six guards refill the water jugs for every prisoner. This was their moment. Tommy signaled the others to attack. Each guard was mobbed by an inmate and stabbed several dozens of times. Their intestines were disemboweled, their eyes were gouged out, their throats were eviscerated. After momentary celebration, the convicts cleaned the blood from their skin and clothing with the guards’ water kegs. Tommy said his goodbyes to the people who may or may not wreak havoc across Russia again. He did not necessarily care about this country. Fuck this government. He was forced to work endlessly.


He was free at last, no longer imprisoned to be a socialist slave. Tommy would run through the backyards of random farmhouses, nicking whatever he can wear off clotheslines if they could fit him. He came to the conclusion that maybe coming to this country was a mistake. When presented with the opportunity, he hitched a ride on a truck west into Norway, though the reemergence of the virus of a couple years ago would rear its ugly head again, thus beginning his story here.

(One of the most recent photos of Tommy, taken by his dear friend and accomplice Isaac Pierce)