Hit me. Make my day.
How many times did I die now? Three? Eh, who's counting?
Nikolai entered, running his hand through his (huzzah) shaggy, brown hair. A scar, uglier and more jagged than any of the ones he wore before, three jagged lines across his weathered face, like he was slashed by a tremendous bear. Or, in the case of Charlie Sheen, your ex-wife.
Nikolai strode silently into the bar. He recalled what he did several days ago, and closed his eyes. Looking down at his hands, he ran his finger over the burn on it. He was told that the purging would not even remove that scar, the symbol of Nikolai's family - his last name had been dropped throughout the ages,(Nikolai had changed his appearance, identity many times to serve in all of the various wars), but the family symbol was still there.
The bear. Standing on it's hind legs, looking east. People say that this is where Nikolai is from - the harsh wastelands of eastern Siberia. Nikolai, truly has forgotten, though he wanted to remember, not just his home, but his old life.
Who was he? Was he honest - well, he had to be, surely. How else would he be in his position? Anywho. Those thoughts would come later. Now, it was time for a drink. He slid into the chair, and put his head into his hand, running his along the marble bar."Privyet Vivian. Could I get a Gin and Tonic, please?"He said, in a pouty face. He drummed his tattooed fingers on the bar, waiting for a drink.
I've cheated death more than once. I can do it again.
Death is not something you play with. Unless of course, your me.