Glass Half Empty | probably gonna get renamed

Prologue

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New York City.

The city that never slept, bustling with life.

People and vehicles flooded the streets, surrounded by the neon signs and billboards plastered onto the sides of glass buildings. Pedestrians stood at its crosswalks, waiting for the cars to go by.

One, a foreigner fidgeted nervously in his place, squished in the middle of the building crowd. He wore a black turtleneck underneath his loose dress shirt, forgetting how much warmer NYC was. And he felt the difference, noting how miserable his stay was going to be.

His white hair stuck to his face - dead set in a scowl with eyebrows that downturned, a mean look especially soured by the fact he didn't want to be there, surrounded by bodies. It was suffocating. He'd never seen so many people before.

Their beady human eyes all stared ahead, pointed at the blinking screen of a hand. The longer he stayed in one place, he could hear his heartbeat thumping louder as he counted down the timer.

3... 2... 1.

SCREECH

Just as the crosswalk signaled to walk, a sleek black limousine blew a red traffic light as it turned the corner, catching the attention of a few drivers that honked while it flew past. Smoke tailed behind it, with the bold blue letters on the plate shamelessly reading "U.S. GOVERNMENT."

The wheels of the limo sounded a horrible squeal as it skidded to a stop, pulling up at a restaurant. Two bodyguards propped themselves to either side of the door, letting out a young man. He stepped onto the red carpet, pulling on his dress coat.

He wore a black suit, a tucked in white dress shirt and ruby tie that hung neatly around his shirt collar. His sunglasses labeled him as a mysterious figure, as they were dark enough to cover up half of his expression. It was all in the smile.

"Handsome," the tabloid magazines would call him.

His long strides read as confident. Cameras clicked as he passed by, to which he fixed himself a smile and waved to, even as the light shot at his glasses. Reporters knocked themselves over, fighting to call out their oddly personal inquiries. It was typical of his public appearance. He was used to it.

His entourage of bodyguards tried the best they could to contain the people, but a few had already slipped onto the carpet, frantically waving their cameras and microphones as they snapped photos from behind. They were a loud bunch too, incredibly rowdy and shouting their unhinged questions. Paparazzi. A bodyguard rushed him to the restaurant's entrance, their cries getting louder as he reached the doors.

"America! What's your relationship with Ru-"

The doors slammed behind him. America seemed to look behind himself for a moment, cocking his brow disdainfully as he frowned, but continued to follow his escort.

He was led to the family's private room, which had been reserved for them about yesterday. He grinned to himself, barely able to hide it. Not being human had its perks, they had been moved up the guest list.

The place held a gorgeous view of New York's Manhattan Bridge, which stood against the navy skies that bled into a smog gray. Certainly, it was worth whatever the government spent for him to dine here.

His eyes trailed over to the empty table, already set up as if they were prepared for him to arrive earlier. He checked his watch. 9:37 PM. They should've been here by now.

"Mon chéri!"

The sound of red heels clicking against the tile floors could be heard, growing louder as a tall woman approached him. Three stripes ran down her face, in a consecutive order of blue, white and then red.