The rain is falling like the Devil's pitchforks from the sky

Montreal. A prime example of the ebb and flow of a seedy underbelly that threatens to spill out and smother a society of flickering virtue. A city of European pretence and Western decadence. The city is a lie… and I hate lies. The truth is like a hot spear and I intend to skewer this nest of deception like a blasphemous pig, squealing out it's dying falsehoods. I came here for answers. There’s someone here that knows me, knows what I need. I can feel it in my gut. And my gut never lies. Call it detective’s intuition. My past, the red star, God, the war in the city; it’s all connected. And once the dots are connected it’ll show a picture of my reckoning. Someone’s going to pay. And they better leave a generous tip.