Ask Julian Sark about his life, and he’ll tell he grew up in the outskirts of Old London, the son of a morally ambiguous banker and an emotionally repressed mother. A child of privilege, he received a stellar education in International Relations from one of the few remaining universities left standing after Revelations. In the years that followed, Sark failed several attempts to get and keep a “normal” job, but in the end, he was drawn to the darker elements of society. In his spare time (and there was lots of it), he began to run weapons and black market tech for some of his father’s less savory associates. Eventually, he was recruited to work as an emissary for a big-time Russian crime syndicate, the Lazarey’s.
In actuality, none of this is true.
Julian Sark was born three years ago in a Gen-Alpha facility in Brussels, an E-Series prototype for a company endeavor known as the S.A.R.C. Project (Self-Aware Replicant Clone). Created from the salvaged DNA of Adam Monroe, a man who went to Gen-Alpha for genetic modification and cellular regeneration enhancement, it took Sark three and a half weeks to reach full adulthood in a gen-tube.
His creation had been commissioned by the Lazarey family, who – looking to ensure a victory in their plot to overthrow their greatest rival – planned to increase their numbers with manufactured foot soldiers. Because he was a prototype, Sark does not have any of the enhanced strength or reflexes that some of the later models have, though he does have inherited Adam Monroe’s powers for rapid cell regeneration. To better assimilate him into human culture and for fear that failure to do so would result in a crisis of self, Sark was implanted with memories of a childhood that didn’t exist.
However, oblivious to this information, Sark lived his daily life as normally as one in his life of work could – making hand-offs and breaking arms, brokering deals and shooting the occasional knee cap.
….
It wasn’t until a few months ago that things started to go wrong. When on assignment in England Sark was approached by stranger on the street who wore he knew him, who then proceeded to beat him senseless and stole his favorite watch. A few days later, when dealing with a client, the meeting was cut suddenly short and Sark was thrown from the establishment.
“We don’t want any of your trouble,” they called out after him, before slamming the door in his face.
...
It wasn’t until he returned to the Lazarey’s that he began to understand what it all meant.
“You’ve been compromised,” his superior said, glaring at him from across the table. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest in New Devon." Sark bristled in his chair at the thought. He wasn’t the best envoy the Lazarey’s had, but he was good, and he knew it. Before he could protest, a pile of pictures were strewn across the table. His superior hissed at him, barely able to contain her displeasure. “You have been compromised.”
What Sark saw confused him. There it was, clear as day, in every glossy photo – his face, his face, his face. There he was withdrawing money from an ATM. Oh, and there he was purchasing some milk at a corner shop in New Devon. And here was a mug shot of him – wait, when had he ever been arrested? He scrambled to grab and handful of them. “Impossible,” Sark stammered, shuffling through the shots. This had to be some sort of test the higher-ups were running him through, some kind of quality assurance they’d just put in place for their envoys. “Simply impossible. This can't be me, these timestamps…I was at our Brussels office then.”
This has to be a test.
“If that is not you,” his superior said sharply, “then I suggest you find out who it is. Until further notice, you’re on suspension. An emissary that cannot move without rousing suspicion is of no use to the Lazarey family.”
It wasn’t a test after all.
…
That night, Sark withdrew all of the money he had in his various accounts, bought a ticket to England, and started traveling. Despite having his rank and access revoked, he was still able to work the network and call in a few favorites. He put he ear to the ground and started looking for him – the man from the photographs. The man with his face. Sark had become obsessed.
Leading up the start of Onorata, Sark has been through most of England looking for Him, and parts of mainland Europe. His latest bit of information has lead him to Reggio Calabria, Italy, where rumor has it a man matching his own description has been seen in league with the Anti Mafia Commission.
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