When I came to, it was the chaos that overwhelmed me. I realized I was wanted.. my name was highlighted, my identity was revealed, and my photo was displayed. I, Santana Nabazettina, was spotted, identified while doing my job.

January Arsonists was another story in itself, I knew the infamous group wouldn't last forever, and because of this.. I chose to find work elsewhere. There was a man, Sonjai Ab-Sayed, and this man was by far unlike any other. I guess you could say he was a terrorist of sorts, but I saw different. He was an artist, like myself, and our taste in art was similiar. He designed pain, I brought pain. He planned terror, I played out terror. What made me question his title as a terrorist was the simple fact that he focused on bringing terror to a certain unit of people, usually the unit of people that were against him in some way. He was more of a crime boss, if anything. Terrorists didn't primarily focus on the unfortunes of certain people, but everyone as a whole. Yes, he was a crime boss.

The irony of it all was that he wasn't from the middle east, despite his Arabian name. In fact, he was born American .. looked American, nonetheless. But, the sick son of a fuck had some deep desire to give himself a middle eastern selfdom. He was a Muslim even, of course he was born a Southern Baptist, and the blue-eyed, blonde-haired bastard even died his hair black, and concealed his bright eyes with brown contacts, just to give himself a faulty appearance. I knew what was beneath him -- a lonely, middle-aged sap yearning for attention. Even if that meant killing others. Oh well, he paid good.

And so, he asked me to do a job.. hearing about my so-called reputation in the business, no doubt he quickly understood that I fucking live up to that wonderful reputation my talent has created. Now the job was to send a forty-two story building up in flames. This building was the fifty year old law firm of a very potent lawyer, Francis B. Higginson. However, his law firm was located in the elegent London, England, and that's where I traveled. Not only did this job pay a shitload of money, but I could get away from the United States, and hopefully escape my wanted status.

Once I arrived, I did what I did best. Gasoline was dispersed everywhere, and it seemed like a single match did the trick. The cause of this raging fire? Well, let's just say they had no clue it was me. Such idiots .. didn't they understand I was behind every act of arson in North America and Europe? Fucking idiots.

I collected my payment and went straight to Milan, Italy, my home. I guess I was taking a direly needed vacation, but truthfully, I was in hiding. Months. I spent months in hiding. I spent the vast majority of my time in Italy at the bar, getting inebriated beyond my limits, having sex with strange, but very good looking men, and testing my smarts with various different drugs. I guess I was wasting away.

The act of arson, in my calculating eyes, was extremely sublime, and that's what caused me to leave Italy, and returned to my beloved, New York City. Was I wanted? Maybe.. maybe not. They could've possibly forgotten about me and my existence. Nothing could stop me from being what I am.. an arsonist and a killer, and New York was where I made my big debute. It's only smart if I remain here and do what I gotta do.

With the collapse of January Arsonists, I wonder what happened to the few that I took a special liking to. Where the hell was Aracadia? Gavin? Gordon? Elle.. even? I grow more and more curious as to their whereabouts, but who knows, maybe I'll cross paths with them someday.