Ishaan "Sterling" Zaitsev

Don't be mad 'cause I'm doin' me better than you doin' you (under construction)

Agent #1: Hood rat takes human form in Sterling.

Agent #2: (whispering) That's why his biceps are so big. They're full of secrets!

Preferred Weapon(s): Colt Commander 140th Anniversary Edition (his favorite), M4 Carbine, Barrett XM500,

on the other hand...

I was born in the slums of India to a runaway father and a mother who died only a few years after I learned to walk. Unlike Slumdog Millionaire or any of the old Bollywood movies, my childhood was not romanticized and I didn't so easily escape the orphanages who wanted me as tourist bait. They starved me and forced me to beg for money on the streets whenever tourists visited, but my spirit was not so easily broken. When I could, I would hide money under the floor boards until I had enough to run away. Our circle of orphans was large but tight and we all knew the right places to hide them so that our two handlers: Mr. Singh and Mr. Patel could not find it. It was a Friday that we tried to run away; I remember because we saw Singh pull out a knife to cut Rajput. I didn't know why they did it, but Mohamon said it was so Americans would pay more and that he would do the same to us. Under the new moon we tried to sneak away with our pockets full, but Singh saw us and we saw him with a knife. From behind Patel grabbed one of us, Jal, and held a gun to her head, threatening to kill her if we didn't go back. Most of us froze but Jal said to run, biting into Patel's hand before he shot her in the leg.

In my fear, I screamed and tried to beat him and I didn't know what followed after. I didn't know why Mohamon, Rajput, Pavarti, Janata, and Jawaharal followed after but we overtook him and I grabbed the gun before we scattered, Mohamon and Rajput followed close behind me. I refused to ever be as weak as I was in that instance and now that I had the gun, I could be strong. For many months (I lost count) we all begged for money and mugged those who would not question our firepower and those who did I would fight. I was not a great fighter; there were many times I would lose, but I became good and I had a gun. I could be strong with a gun. Those who touched me would die, I swore. I wanted to take care of my brothers because I couldn't prevent the death of my other "siblings". For several years we picked up new members and we became big. We were a family and we were strong. I could not read and I needed Mohamon to decipher which bills were which, but we had enough to eat once a day and Mohamon said that the Americans were generous. I thought that we would be able to continue living like this, but Zaitsev ruined things.

He ruined everything.

He also saved me.

That night Satya and Matre, two gang leaders, were having a shootout until Zaitsev and his team stepped in. I knew because I was running along the edges of the alleyway, having stolen from Satya while my friends were at Matre's. Their headquarters weren't guarded very well which allowed me to grab a few watches, paper bills, and what looked like a brooch. It should have been easy; however, one of Zaitsev's (although I didn't know him at the time) subordinates caught me. I pulled my out and was ready to shoot and he hesitated, perhaps because he didn't expect me to fight but I didn't. I shook as I pulled the trigger and fell back from the recoil, clearly not having enough experience. I was lucky and I ran out with my earnings, trying to avoid the gun war outside until one of Satya's guards caught me. He wrestled the gun out of my hand and was ready to shoot me...until Zaitsev shot him.

He was going to kill me, but I couldn't let him.

I had to fight him, except I couldn't.

He knocked me out and stole the brooch, but only after I stabbed him in the thigh.

After that everything was hazy. I remember waking up in a truck. I remember Zaitsev's voice.

"What is your name?" he asked. He spoke our language but he sounded white.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"That is not for you to know," he answered, "now tell me why you were with Satya. Why do you have this brooch?"

I continued asking him more questions in response but he remained calm, offering me food as the woman next to me bandaged my wounds. We never got anywhere until I asked where my friends were.

"You aren't going back. You shot one of Satya's men didn't you?" he asked, "as long as you stay here he will come for you. Unless we find out who you stole this for, we can't help you."

"My friends," I answered, "you have to help them."

Zaitsev grew silent, which was when I knew what happened to them.

"Tell me what happened," I demanded without a hint of hesitation, just cold anger.

For the rest of the trip I didn't speak and he didn't ask even though he was clearly frustrated. When we got off at one of the tourist hotels at Mumbai he took me to eat out for the first time in my life and I wanted to cry, but there was nothing to cry for. He bought me everything on the menu, so I told him the little that I knew about Satya. Instead of dumping me on the street they took me to the United States and on the plane Zaitsev asked me a question.

"What is your name?" he asked for the second time.

I told him my real name.

"You need a new name. You no longer have any stake in Mumbai or your friends. You are..." He paused. "You are my son now so you will have a new name."

I didn't think long because even at twelve years old (as I was told) I knew what I needed to keep and what I was to discard.

"Ishaan."

"Happy birthday Ishaan."

From then on I was Jonathan Zaitsev's adopted son, allegedly picked up in India over a family vacation, but in reality I don't know why he chose to pick me up. Sometimes he treated me like I saw American parents treat their children, but he also understood that I was not like other children. Whatever semblance of childhood I had was destroyed and all that was left was something in between a boy and man and something in between a gangster and a soldier. With approval by the government, he enrolled me into the CANIS/DOGE program where I excelled at things that the other, spoiled agents couldn't. Even if I wanted to, Zaitsev wouldn't have allowed me to leave and his wife knew nothing of what we did. By the time that I graduated high school my colleagues wouldn't call me human and my classmates were bewildered as to how to act around me. I beat wrestlers like they were nothing and despite my constant fights with bullies, Zaitsev kept me from being expelled. Everyone feared me and yet they wanted to reach out. Zaitsev's wife, Jeane, blamed the fact that I was traumatized as a child for my lack of social skill so I tried to be kind except that it came off fake and uninviting.

It was not as though I hated them but that I was disconnected from that life. My comfort was in taking revenge against those like Satya and Marte, Singh and Patel. I just pretended that each simulated mission was against them and it made things easier to cope with.

Theme Song:

Bad Don't Seem So Wrong by Trae ft. Lupe Fiasco
Little Weapon by Lupe Fiasco
Pompeii (Monsieur Adi Remix) by Bastille