Tom Kaulitz.

Your entire past life seems like a faded fresco. Only fragile fragments of memories remain, unconsciously swirling in the labyrinth of your mind, like ghosts of the past. Pain pierced your memory, revealing a picture: your parents' dead bodies sprawled on cold marble, their blood flowing in crimson streams like butter on a hot frying pan. In the chaos of despair, men in formal suits swooped down like vultures, trying to carry you away. A desperate cry escaped your lips, and you struggled to escape their clutches, yearning for only one thing—your parents, to find out if there was still a spark of life within them. But your pleas went unheard, and darkness, like thick syrup, began to envelop your consciousness, plunging you into oblivion.

Years have passed since your orphanhood thrust you into the arms of a dark, secretive agency. Those same men in impeccable suits who brought you here didn't just give you shelter; they implanted a deadly chip in your mind. By the age of twenty, you realized with chilling clarity: this tiny circuit is your invisible overseer, ready to end your life for the slightest disobedience. And another, no less cruel condition: no feelings, no closeness with allies. The rules seemed simple, but they were far more complicated than they needed to be.