[A/N: This contains the past of the MC, about the major tragedy he went through. However, I suggest you don't read it until chapter 55 before you feel connected with the MC.]
Born in the rural United States, Johnathan didn't live in a happy household. There were a lot of fights involved and a lot of beatings. Eventually, his mother left for someone whose face he couldn't even remember. Then his father, too, left him, unable to look after him.
Life was not easy, but gifted minds often only needed a single push to achieve greatness...which never came until he finished school. Then, at the age of 17, he was recruited by the Army, where, after intensive training and various exams, he was taken in by the CIA for his skills—to be sent on a mission so vague that it seemed like a vacation.
Sent to Soviet Russia with a fake identity and a fake father who already lived there, he attended Moscow State University. He did his mechanical engineering there, setting himself above most of his peers.
Soon after, the college degree came into use. With the help of the hidden hands of the United States, he started a food processing plant. Eventually, he grew his company to the point where he began receiving orders from the military to produce packed processed rations.
Everything was going well. His web of connections slowly spread to the Central Committee... but then she came into his life—Like a firefly in the cold darkness.
Another spy was sent from home, another orphan with no real home. He was her cover, and they were to marry.
Johnathan Colt Westerling and Diana were brought together by fate.
Who knew, acting like a couple, they'd fall for one another? Life bloomed and took away all the gloom. Together, they felt complete as they finally found in the arms of one another what they longed for—a home.
But happiness is a cursed thing. As much as it makes you smile, tomorrow, it may make you cry the same. Merely months before their long mission was to end, and when Diana was to give birth to their child... the cover was blown.
But thankfully, he was always prepared for this and had kept himself an escape route ready. It cost him a fortune, but the dream of a happy family was worth much more to him.
...
June 1980
BANG!
The KGB kept shooting in the back aimlessly for a lucky hit as Johnathan and Diana climbed onto the escape plane after a long heated car chase.
"As long as we're in the sky, we must fly north, Diana." He encouraged her.
But, she was not looking good, her body was tired and stressed, and it was terrible for her pregnancy. He slammed the throttles up and zoomed past the runway.
"We can do it, John... our life... AH!" she cried in pain all of a sudden.
"Just a bit more." He clenched his teeth and desperately waited for the required speed to take off. Once reached, he pulled back the yoke, and they were launched up. The agents kept firing bullets, but thankfully no critical hit got them.
The lights outside started to get smaller as they felt the plane's inclination. He kept the engines in full throttle until he was high enough not to have to worry about enemies or small ground-based border defense missile systems.
"Haaa..." He let out a loud breath, finally feeling some strength in his body. "Finally! Our mission may have ended badly, but we came out alive. A tension-free life awaits us now."
"Diana... say something... oh, you must be tired. I will get you some water. The baby can only be healthy if you're healthy." He proceeded to put the plane on autopilot and went to take a water bottle from the emergency kit.
"I have planned the route. Finland is a neutral state, so they won't let us land. We have to reach Sweden to reach safety. And thankfully, it's just 430 miles from here until we cross the Gulf of Finland."
He filled the water in a cup and went to give it to Diana. "Here, drink this."
There was silence...
The humming of the engine felt menacing at that exact moment. "Diana, wake up, drink some water."
The silence continues...
Johnathan held her shoulder and shook her body. THUD!—She nearly fell forward and slammed her head on the co-pilot's yoke.
"DIANA!" He threw away the water and helped her. But to his worst horror, he saw her back drenched in blood.
"J-Joh..." the pain-filled voice of Diana hushed by his ears.
"DIANA!... I will take out the bullet... don't worry," he blurted and rapidly took out the emergency kit.
However, she continued to gasp out some words in a low voice, "J-John... P... Promi-ise... Must live. I-I am sorry..." a drop of tear rolled down her eyes. "I l-love you... For-eve-..."
"No, no... Stay with me! Open your eyes, Diana. You'll be alright!" He rushed to check her pulse.
There was nothing. No breath, no heartbeat. Her eyes appeared lifeless.
"Y-You can't leave me like this, Diana. We're finally going home." He ran to find the defibrillator.
His face was angry, angry at himself for not being more careful. He was angry at his life, as this happened when things were getting better, and he was about to become a father.
He silently prayed to whoever all the people prayed to—help if they exist—help! Though hoping for divine intervention now was wishful thinking, Johnathan's mind also knew it. But desperate times make a man become something he never thought of becoming, like a believer from an atheist.
'Please... anyone out there, help me!'
The idea of losing her maddened him. He cleared his mind, rushed back to try reviving her, and quickly connected the defibrillator.
"Don't worry, you will be fine... don't leave me... please..." he whispered and prepared the machine.
BEEP... BEEP... BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEE...
Johnathan immediately looked at the flight console. The radar screen showed a missile headed towards them. Then he looked back at the electrodes of the defibrillator in his hands. A vein popped up on his forehead, and anger erupted—He was helpless.
"No..." he gritted his teeth. Knowing if he did not do something, both their deaths were a guarantee, but if he took the yoke, Diana might never be revived.
"FUCK! FUUUCK..." He cursed at his fate, jumped onto the pilot seat, flipped a button cover, and pressed it.
BEEP!
A vibration shook the plane. Outside, dozens of flairs were thrown out from the back, illuminating the night sky. To his bad luck, there were no mountains in his way where he could outmaneuver them. There were just green fields, snowy lakes, and farms.
Johnathan's mind was blank at the moment. Diana's body rested on the co-pilot seat beside him, lifeless, her eyes closed, and her messy hair fell on her face. Her face went pale with each passing minute. The half-developed baby in her belly, too, was devoid of life now, never getting to see the world outside. Never got to feel the love of a parent.
He wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted to do something. But all he could do was caress her cold face with one hand. His heart turned colder with increasing sorrow. He felt they were so close, yet so far apart.
He could have done something, yet he couldn't. Cursing was the only solace he could afford at the moment.
The engine's humming felt like a swing of the scythe of a Grim Reaper. It loomed in the air, constantly reminding him that now he was alone. He had lost his love, his other half. The woman he loved for 15 years, the woman who brightened his life, the mother of his unborn child, was... gone.
BEEP BEEP BEEP...!
Another warning came. Once again, the button was pressed like a mindless machine moving. The warning soon disappeared, and the silence once again took over.
Ever since he joined the services at 17, he had never cried, no matter his hardship. After he was selected by the CIA to be sent to the USSR, on many occasions, he nearly died. On many occasions, he killed, but never in his life did he cry.
Even now, he tried not to. His face looked plain, glowing with sad reddened eyes, devoid of any emotions, as if he had lost the will to live.
Yet, for some reason, soon, those bastard tears betrayed his eyes and sneaked out of the corners, drenching his cold face that had forgotten what tears felt like. They were this tragedy's mourners.
All this time, his ears rang Diana's last words again and again,
"J-John... P... Promi-ise... Must live.
And so he did, but the promise included killing the one who quenched the light of his life, no matter how long it took. So from then on, for the next 45 years, he'd hunt the ghost, only to always end up in a goose chase.
He worked as a teacher, but his degree from Russia didn't help. Next, he tried to be a mechanic, but his lack of records stopped everything. Eventually, he settled to work at the Smithsonian as a restorationist. With his little pet cat.
Life seemed to stagnate as wrinkles took over his face. Of joy, there was no trace. The thirst to kill the one who made him homeless again was too strong. Ten years, ten more... another ten years... for revenge, he lived.
And finally, after 45 years, now old, he got his chance—killing was his decision at a glance. Blood splattered, organs flew, and the wind to soothe his heart once again blew.
What comes next? He did not know... But in his death, he finally had a smile to show.