EDIT: WARNING: MAJOR TEXTWALL BELOW
***
His warehouse was located on prime riverfront property. At least, it used to be prime. Across the river, a mere mile or so, the incomprehensible had occurred: where there very clearly used to be a thriving city, now lay a blackened crater with the scent of charred flesh and mass death still carrying on the wind. How long he was in the makeshift hospital, he did not know, but by the looks of things he had been put under at least a weak previous. A foreboding sense of wonder came over him, a sickening feeling of guilty victory.
He had done this.
He had committed an absolute atrocity, but
He had done it perfectly. What sort of demon was he?
Soon, Wolfe's initial emotions gave way to a greater sense of pity and dread. He was going to hell, if there was one. Millions were prematurely dead, by his hand. Looking at his hands, wondering how they could cause so much suffering. Strangely, tears came to his eyes. He couldn't remember many things, but he somehow new this was a rare occurrence. He felt a great pain, and it wasn't only the lingering effects of burn marks on his left side, most likely gained setting off the explosion. He had done wrong, and he knew that he hadn't done much right in his life.
Slowly, he turned from the monstrous view and started down the street. What was once clearly a bustling industrial district, supplying the ample tourist businesses across the bridge, now was as empty as his hospital bed. Long strides took him to the corner, and for the first time he noted that no electric lighting prodded the darkness, hinting at the true lack of humanity in the area. Before musings of apocalyptic survival could gain true significance, the sound of an engine came from the darkness before him. Down the road sped a truck, large by European standards, retrofitted as a sort of military Humvee. Its seventy-mile-per-hour bulk shot past him, and just as quickly screeched to a halt, reversing towards him.
Wolfe found himself in a balanced position, displaying training he no longer had memory of. Six men causally leapt from the vehicle, and walked with practiced swagger towards him. Interestingly, only three of them had modern shredder pistols; the rest had antiquated assault rifles which for some reason gave him the severe impression of Russia and Communists. His thoughts were interrupted by a the guttural bark only a German can muster-
"Wher sind sie?" Who are you?
Wolfe's less coarse accent would not have the chance to show itself, for while he focused on the questioning man another of the warriors snuck close and gave him a blackening blow to the head with the butt of his rifle.
He awoke in a dank room, jury-rigged into a cell. Apparently, they were monitoring him because a minute later the door opened and light flooded in from a surprisingly well-kept hallway.
"We asked before. Who are you?" The man who answered was obviously not an ancestral German like the previous six seemed to have been, due to both his foreign accent on the language and his being black.
"I--"
"Don't lie to me, Mr. Martel. Or should I say...what was it... Wolf Hammer." A smirk found its way to the black man's face, solidifying Wolfe's belief that these people did not believe in two-sided conversations.
"I--" He gained confidence in his hypothesis, as the man cut in again.
"Agent Martel. The Wolf. For you Dusseldorf assignment, given the moniker Wolf Hammer. We know much about you, Agent." Apparently not. Where did Wolfe work into all of this? Was it a fake name? Letters on a passport to let him enter the country?
"I don't know what you're talking about!" He retorted, finally producing his voice. It was more scratchy then his mind's monologue led him to believe.
"I suppose what happened to you could have damaged your memory. Here, maybe this will jog your memory." He pulled a tablet from his pocket, and fiddled with it for a moment, then tossed it to Wolfe. Martel?
It was him, but it was not him. The man on the screen was determined, and secure in himself. He was one of eight, walking conspicuously towards the yearly Festival, still going down even as the world around it sank. As the group reached the edge of the security camera's angle, the video jumped to another camera. This time, the group was mere blocks from the Festival on the river, and they had a robot with them. It rolled slowly behind the pack, reaching waist height with the very top of its boxy design. Cheap and a workhorse; perfect for carrying goods from a plane to storage. Or bombs to a fair.
A shout echoed through the video, and weapons were immediately drawn from various tuckaways as the group spread out. Armed forces came running into the street, and traded fire with the Agents, now taking cover in the alleys branching to either side of the road. The police were killed without a single fatality for the group, and they began running towards the festival. Some body apparently heard the shots over the deafening riot of the party, and ran away in terror towards the river. One agent shot him squarely in the back, and they all entered a building across the street from the major festival.
"You see, your intelligence was not as good as you believed. The building you entered was not security-free, as promised. I would double-check your contacts." The smug look returned to the black man's face as he said this, then loaded a third video, illuminating the inside of the building. Wolfe and another agent began disassembling the robot and two others reassembled a completely different contraption from the parts. The four others took lookout positions from different windows of the store. One of them yelled something-this camera was image only- and began firing from the window. An explosion shook the screen, and when the smoke cleared that corner of the building was blown open, with no sign of the agent nor the one stationed nearby. The two surviving warriors, along with the three assisting Wolfe, began maddeningly firing into the area beyond the hole. One, two, three fell with rapid succession. Wolfe appeared frantic for the first time, emotion finally breaching his face. He connected some final wires, stood, and turned towards the makeshift entryway.
A smirk now came to
his face, and he pulled a pair of machine pistols from his jacket. Firing confidently into the edge of the screen, he began walking steadily forward. Once outside with the other surviving agent, he pulled out a button and began running, dropping the near-empty pistols. The other agent picked up a strange weapon from one of the bodies, and a reflection from the scope briefly mirrored the fourth security camera which put this action on display. The pair ran down the street, away from the fair, with cameras again tracking their movement. Taking a right, they were a mere quarter mile from the river when squealing engines declared the arrival of more soldiers. Never stopping, the agent with Wolfe began firing over his shoulder. They were still too close to detonate the smart bomb, but were close to the safety of the river.
Less then one hundred yards away from the river, Wolfe's partner fell with blood spurting from a wound in his chest. Even the poorly trained chicken finds seed once in a while, apparently. Not wishing to meet a similar fate, Wolfe gave a final burst of speed. Alas, it was not enough; the cumbersome IFV's were fast approaching. Giving a scream, Wolfe looked once skyward and then jumped hopelessly forward, pressing the button. A muted explosion sounded, then came rushing across the screen, obliterating the soldiers and slamming Wolfe forward into the river. As he flew, the buildings behind him collapsed, as the directed explosion continued down the lengths of the river and deep into the heart of Dusseldorf. The camera died shortly during this process.
"As you can see, you should not be alive. We believe your extraction team took you to a ready-made position nearby, which you shall have to lead us to after this. We would have followed, but were busy attacking other agents of yours while holding off the remnants of German forces. The Spartan Federation decided to find out what you people were doing, and based on the results we set up a permanent camp here in New Neuss. You are certainly not weak, and deserve a second chance. Shall we go?"
Wolfe had many questions, and nothing the black man said relieved his mind. Perhaps digging a bit deeper would help him discover his past. "Lead the way."
***
Wow. That was a lot of text. Well, I guess from that you can gather how Wolfe was told he could find his past on the Unity, which they would infiltrate as per the purposes of the game. I have plans for Agent Wolfe and the Captain, which you may find interesting...
And I guess I have a head start on RP 
