Two clicks of a horizontal stretched suit case resonated from the roof top of the West tower in the Casablanca Center located in Morocco. The twenty eight floor complex was home to several offices, shopping centers, and other various platforms of commerce as it served as a crossroads between Zerktouni Boulevard and Boulevard Al Massira Al Khadra. Peering down from the less then infamous tower, a lone assassin carefully assembled a high powered gas operated remote controlled SRS99D-S2 AM Sniper Rifle before returning to the streets below just as an armored convoy of Mercedes Benz's rolled up. Immediately an entourage of heavily armed ex-gorilla rebels leaped out forming a perimeter around the last vehicle, methodically shielding one of the most ruthless dictators in the region, General Moostafi Jahr. A former resistance fighter turned tyrant.
The assassin inconspicuously walked by without so much as a second glance thrown in his direction, but as he reached into his pocket removing his cell phone and pressing, "send," chaos soon erupted in the streets. One shot, one kill. A dictator lay dead in the streets and the World didn't bat an eyelash. In the following months Moostafi simply became one of many distasteful authoritarian figure heads to met their doom, and with the supervillain community on the rise, their was little attention paid to the happens in the third World continent. Little did the World know that a systematic platform of annexation was underway. Jean Luc, known to the criminal underworld as Gambler, had seemingly fallen off the map after having assembled an ecliptic group of individuals as they formed the Shadowland. In truth he had been methodically making preparations to expand his power hungry reach while solidifying his global dominance. But the Cajun had drastically underestimated the ambitions of one of his oldest friends, the malevolent Darkchild. He returned to the once illustrious country of France to find Paris in ruins and his former team implementing a coup d'état in a stroke of masterfully planned extrajudicial disposition of the French government.
After a brief and unsuccessful attempt to stop the devastation, Gambler escaped. Returning to Africa with no other choice but to accelerate his plans. Seemingly over night the Dark Continent began a beautiful transformation as Universities, hospitals, urban development, and all around commerce began to flourish. Every favor, every resource at the Cajun's disposal were being funneled into the country. The genesis of Utopia had begun.
Months had passed since the birth of Utopia and Jean Luc was being haled as a savor. The self-proclaimed "Dessert Messiah" had manipulated his way into the hearts and mind of the people while once again twisting the fragile United Nations into political submission. On the surface Utopia had become an innovative vision of vitalization and its ambassador a beacon of humanitarian relief. The truth however was anything but. Gambler had been mining the countries most precious natural resource, Vibranium, through the back braking enforcement of slave labor all to create a state of the art army, the Rosasi Sands. Aided by his closest killers the Cajun and company navigated the international laws of humanity unimpeded thanks in large part to the utter decimation of France and the hell on Earth unleashed by the Tenebresque In. Flying under the radar Utopia was allowed to fortify its foundation firmly cementing its roots.
Sliding from underneath the seductively velveteen like texture of his silk sheets, the Aristocratic Assassin made his way into the lavishly oversized washroom on the other side of the master bedroom. The long streaming outline of his latest sexual conquest remained slightly covered with the sheets barely draping off her hip. Now, face to face with his vanity mirror the Cajun's expression began to rapidly change as his fingers trailed down the lasting reminder of the Hunter's viciousness. Having never fully healed, the three distinguishable marks served as a constant point of aggravation for the Living Legend. Of all the scars tattooing his body its was the one cemented on his chest that angered him the most.
News of a black ops operation unfolding in Egypt had been circulating for weeks bringing about a certain level of concern, but also anticipation, for the Cajun, as he believed the moment of redemption would soon be at hand. Like true wolves the Pack would almost be instinctively drawn to Africa and its current upheaval. It was only a matter of time before Leopards and Wolves collided.