Threshold of Decision

Sitting ten stories up with his legs dangling over a ledge, Syrius stared at over the city in thought as he flipped through his recently started notebook and playing a small MP3 player full of epic orchestra music. For him, he would be deciding today upon which pathway he would choose to stay upon for the rest of his days. Looking at the two pages he had written in expensively, both were plans of his his own making. They outlined in perfect detail two different paths, two different careers. One he had followed upon for the past few years in his quest to just use his older skills for not so amazing feats. Thievery, espionage, and more were all under that list, with him being uncaring for whom he effected except himself. The other was a detailed outline and business plan to start a simple shop under a new name, a new life.

For Syrius, this was a hard choice. He was on the threshold to doing whichever he most wished to do, but he was equally divided on his want and need for both of them. Both satisfied his needs, but it was his wants that would be considered. Frowning as he stared hard at each page, the ex-thief thought about how his skills from the CIA had done nothing but make his life harsher and more painful then anything else had done so before. Even when his mother had died so many years ago from that murderer's hands... Sighing, the lone man dangling over the abyss just sat there, content to just mull over it like a chicken in a crock pot.

Suddenly in the building, he heard the sounds of a struggle, a knife entering flesh and rending it. A angered voice, and helpless cry, all coming from the room behind a window pane behind him. Blinking in surprise, Syrius didn't even bother trying to find out what was going on. He just pulled out his phone, dialed 911 and spoke as he heard the pleasant female operator on the other end of the line. "I'd like to report a assault at Castle Apartments. Possible murder taking place. It's near the top of the apartments, tenth floor." He then hanged up before she even got a word of advice or anything in. He couldn't be traced, couldn't be ID'ed, couldn't let himself be on the digital world. Taking apart his phone and tossing the SM card, it's battery and the phone itself in different directions off the high building before climbing down a few stories to sit on another ledge. What would he choose to do? Would he continue being a thief and criminal? Or a brand new life? Pondering the question and recent events, Syrius glanced from one page to the other right alongside it, uncertain. What to do, what to do...?

New Life?

Working his way through the crowds of the streets, Syrius wondered at his older career. Being a agent of the US government had been good, if a bit of a harsh life. Having to be cold and efficient, leaving behind family and friends... Well, one thing that flickered in his mind's eye the most was a few numbers. Specifically the number eleven and the number seven. They were his numbers, his designation way back when. Delta-Tango One-hundred and seventeen. Kinda strange how that is what he remembered out of all the horrors and miracles he had lived through in his service for the country of the United States of America. Oh well...

Humming to himself as he considered what to do today, the ex-thief decided on simply going with a cup of coffee and a nice sandwich. Maybe delve on old memories, see what he wished to truly do nowadays. Maybe he should get out of this city... Just move on and enjoy a new life? Or maybe he should just stay here and be a honest citizen. Could always be a barista maybe. He loved coffee after all. Shrugging, Syrius walked up to the nearby cafe and took his seat at one of stools at the counter. Ordering a cup of coffee and a turkey club, he tapped his fingers against the granite counter and wondered again about his life. Always running, always on the move... Maybe he should just accept the inevitable and pull the gun on himself? Or just go ahead and start a brand new life, forgetting his older pursuits of thievery and the shadow realm.

Taking the cup slid to him of coffee, he busied himself for a few moments with adding a bit of sugar and cream to the elixir and taking a long sip. Maybe becoming a barista wasn't all that bad of a idea after all. Could be fun to dazzle this town with something new... He had plenty of money after all to do it. Could become the next wave in this damn city of culture and oddness. Make some people give him curious or queer looks while they bought coffee from him. Chuckling at the thought, Syrius also noted the sandwich plopped down unceremoniously in front of him, took it up to take a large bite out of the crudely made sandwich. Though crude, it was still good. Maybe his shop should have sandwiches, breakfast, the whole works... Could be fun as hell to come up with a whole menu and decoration after all. Food for thought, and literally his stomach. Biting into the sandwich again, Syrius dozed into a state of limbo like he always did when seriously thinking on something while munching on the food clutched in his hands.

Vacations? Whaaa...?

Walking along the street in his surprisingly long depression bout he had been having this week, Syrius thought to himself as he hid his hand in his hoodie pocket. It had been healing but the fingernails were damaged to the point of people able to visibly notice it from a few feet away. No need for people to inquire about someone like him. Rubbing his other uninjured hand across his stubble-covered jaw, Syrius thought to himself about what he should be doing right now. Lately he had abandoned his detective friend to his own work while he dealt with this sudden bout of emotional upheaval that was unbecoming for his line of work.

Bad business meant bad results. And those results could end up with either of them in jail or with unfriendly figures trying to take them down... Neither was needed, so Syrius decided to take a break. Maybe he should go on a vacation one of these days. Blinking at the thought, Syrius looked back into his memory lane and wondered when was the last time he had taken a vacation. In all actuality, it had been years. Possibly a decade. It was strange how such things just slipped your mind when you were so busy with such things as escaping the government...

Shrugging, Syrius looked up to see a semi-familiar figure coming towards him. What was her name...? Summer? It was some season... wait, Spring! that was her name. He had partially met her once before for a brief moment due to necessity. He had given up his bus seat to her once. Poor girl... He remembered how rough a time she had from the few times he had followed her about. Did that make him a stalker? No, no it didn’t. He wasn’t obsessed with her. Just curious at times when bored. Still, she was someone that always sparked a feeling of curiosity in him.

Maybe one of these days he should try talking to her for longer then a second? Who knew, maybe she was a amazing person... Realizing he was staring at her and she was starting to notice, Syrius averted his gaze and turned down into a alleway, noticing a nearby gas station and heading for it. No. He wouldn’t ever start something like that unless he needed to. No need to make anyone else endangered because of stupid mistakes he had made like betraying his own government... even if for ethical reasons. Ethically right didn’t mean he was able to follow those instincts. Sighing, Syrius just shrugged and trudged along like he always did. Just blend in as riff raff and you would survive in life. Nobody would bother you for money, to mug you, to judge you as anything but something to be avoided. And he wanted to just be ignored and avoided right now more then anything.

Ghosts of Missions Past

Having been sitting in the ledge of a particular Castle Apartment’s window for the past many hours, Syrius battled the elements, sleep and his fears. For the first time in a long time, he had decided to get drunk, very drunk, to just deal with his internal demons. About his previous life and what he had been forced to do to so many people before, about his life now, and what his life was going to be. curled up on the harsh concrete of the small ledge, Syrius kept switching between a hazy awakeness and partial sleep as he thought and dreamt to himself in equal measure.

Most people would be more then freaked by the fact that they were hundreds of feet in the sky, with barely more than a foot or two of space between oneself and the ledge. Not Syrius, and especially not with him dealing with his hangover and the last bit of his drinking binge. Why had he done it...? Looking into the window, Syrius saw his reflection. He was pathetic... He could barely deal with his own problems, let alone help the world’s problems like he had always wanted to do.

Sighing as he curled up even tighter, he wondered how there was no wind this high up in the sky. It was so still, so... dead. Opening his eyes again to look into the window, Syrius’ eyes widened to the size of plates as he saw Justin. Yelling out in surprise at the reflection of his blood-covered partner staring right at him with those haunted eyes, Syrius fell back and yelled out again as he began falling... Only to catch the ledge with his arm. Barely catching himself by his fingertips, Syrius dragged himself up over the ledge and grunted loudly in pain. Was his shoulder dislocated? No, just his fingers were bleeding from his nails...

Shaking his head wildly, Syrius looked at the window again to see that the reflection of Justin wasn’t there anymore... but there was something. Fearful to see what it might be, Syrius got closer. What it turned out to be though was a man standing there, arms outstretched and a “what the fuck are you doing?!?” look on his face as he yelled through the glass at Syrius. Shaking his head, Syrius just waved his bleeding hand at the man in a supplicating wave and crawled back to where he was sleeping. He didn't even bother to see who the man was, fearful that he would think the occupant of room 1965 was his long lost partner. His lost partner, at his own hands... Sighing, Syrius fell back into a dull doze again, ignoring the world for his own self-pity and misery. Who gave a fuck what happened to the world when nobody cared about each other?

Memories

Another day, another day to think. Where had his life gone, from being a respected member of society to a thief, the lowest drudge in the world? Where had his morals gone on wishing to protect the world and it’s people to becoming a thief to those people? Crawling along the ledge of Castle Apartments and up level by level, Syrius’ mind wandered as his fingers found purchase here and there on the hard surface of the building. These questions to himself and begun to spring up again and again in his mind as the days wore on in this small city. Today on his agenda, he was searching for some clues to where a particular robber had disappeared to in the city he now called his home for temporarily. At The Detective’s request, of course. As his skillset included this sort of searching, he had volunteered to head up the side of a small skyscraper and find out if anyone unusual had come into the building recently. Taking his pleasant time, Syrius took short breaks in his treacherous and stealthy mission up the side of the building to think, his legs hanging over the ledge nonchalantly.

Deciding to pause on another break, he grunted as he pulled himself over probably the one and a half dozenth ledge to sit on the narrow concrete ledge, looking down hundreds of feet below at the busy road. Nobody suspected he was up here because nobody bothered to ever look up. That and it was evening so the sun lowered and shadows deepened as he crawled about like a spider would. Chuckling at the thought, Syrius decided to answer his own question. Or try to at least...

Pulling up older memories, he thought of how his life had begun. Why he had chosen to work for people like the US Military and the CIA, to throw his life into the hands of bureaucrats and snobby gits alike? Because he had wanted to serve his people and possibly the world. How naive he had been then... Such a way of life only led to corruption, to backstabbing and a world of constant treachery. The honorable ways of helping the world now only were careers in the Peace Corp and other such organizations. The comics, books and movies of his youth were all sadly false. Nobody believed in honor anymore, in just saving the world... Maybe because in many people’s eyes, there wasn’t anything to save it from.

Remembering how he had idolized his hero’s of then such as fictional hero’s like Commander Shepard of the Mass Effect games and books, or Aragorn of the Lord of the Rings series, Syrius shook his head in puzzlement. Such a young perspective, to think he could maybe follow in their steps. To put everything forth to protect those of the world and sacrifice everything for them... That was not the case in real life. If you were to sacrifice your life, it wasn’t to some truly noble cause. It was because of money, politics, power... Not to simply save people or preserve justice, peace and prosperity. Not even survival like in Mass Effect... The world never had had such a threat before. Not even with the Cold War, where the threat of nuclear war was always there. Even then, it had been for power, both political and militarily.

If only Commander Shepard actually existed, Syrius could ask him so many questions. What should he do? Why was he doing this? Why had he given everything for people like the Council, those greedy bastards of the Mass Effect universe... But he was fictional. Despite having been created by Syrius in his imagination through Bioware’s ingenius construction of the game, it was basically a reflection of his own soul. As had millions of other people who had played the game, they all created their own Shepards and controlled him or her. Had led his destiny through his or her own morals... Syrius had ensured he was the ultimate good guy. To be the savior of the galaxy from the Reapers. Maybe that, better then anything else, showed who Syrius was. And compared to his present self, Syrius knew what he did was wrong. He had never wanted to be a thief, yet when he had finally tried to become noble and reveal corruption and to solve it, he had been branded a outlaw, treasonous by his own country. He had not even published those files he had taken all those years ago... Yet he still was now a traitor to his country. To the cause of the United States of America.

Eyes focused again as his daydreaming ended for a moment, Syrius looked about the city that had been his home for the past few months. How he hated it... It brought up so many questions he never wanted to consider, yet he knew he must at some point in his life. He didn’t know the answers, nor did anyone else he suspected. Who could answer the complicated questions of the universe like morality? Nobody. Except yourself... And it’s answer varied by person. So in short, he was screwed when it came to answering this question. Shrugging to himself, Syrius took a deep breath and turned in place, grabbing onto a crack nearby and hauling himself up. Time to begin his trek up the skyscraper again that was this apartment complex. He needed to get to the top floor where he had heard rumors that this newcomer and decided to take as his home. As he’d rather not be seen by security cameras, this was the way he went. Besides, it was a challenge and challenges always helped him get motivated to do something. Whether stupid or worthwhile, he would get the job done this way. Gritting his teeth as he hanged from one arm a moment and swung his way up another few feet to a hard-to-reach ledge, Syrius cursed and grunted his way up the side of the building to his future. Maybe he could set some wrongs right and help others... No more thievery. Just help others. Maybe that would give life worthwhile purpose again... Who knew? He’d find out after all... No more questions needed.

In brightest day... in blackest night, no money shall escape my sight! Let those who worship money's might, beware my powertools -- Syrius Hawkins's might! … I seriously read too many comics as a kid... In the falling twilight of this Ides of March, a lone figure made his way along the lonely Thieves’ Highway, many feet away from the true roads below. Step by gentle step, grip by grip, Syrius crawled over the roof of Walter’s Lanes on his way to a particular dead-beat job in the strip club. Supposedly a nice stash of cash was there that he could relieve them of... If he could get there without being noticed. It was a busy hour and he could tell that it would be interesting to sneak in.

Keeping his silhouette low and his pace steady, the thief thought of his time in this small city. A reputation, his reputation, had been growing throughout the city in his time here for the past few months. Items disappeared, money slipped from fingers, and more then a few men and women had found their petty tactics of crushing competition didn’t work. Nobody would be able to escape his thievery to help those who couldn’t help themselves... Man, he really shouldn’t have read all those comics when he was younger. Affecting his thinking now. He was no hero, just some thief. A good one at that, but still a thief. Oh well, no one can be perfect. My living is stealing from the honest and dishonest folk alike. Too bad for them.

Coming to the edge of the bowling alley’s rooftop and to the vast cavern that was the road below, Syrius looked down and about before tightening his backpack and ensuring his clothing was on properly. Glad to see nothing needed fixing, he fixed his eyes upon the thick metal cable running from this building to the club. A TV cable or power cord, he didn’t know nor care. It was his safe, quiet and easy passage from one building to the next. And who would think to look up into the black sky at a simple cord? Nobody, that’s who. Pulling himself onto the wire and ensuring he was on securely, Syrius slowly began pulling himself across the wire. Slow and steady wins the race... Fast just means dead.

Wanting to hum as he crossed the chasm, he froze as he suddenly heard a noise. Shouting from somewhere in the distance... Keeping still to ensure it wasn’t about him, Syrius quickly pulled himself across the remaining distance to the strip club’s relatively safe roof and pulled himself up onto it, gritting his teeth to hold back a grunt as he hauled his fat ass over the concrete railing.

Landing with a small thud on the actual roof of the building, he stood up and crouch-walked over to the other side where he could see Castle Apartments. It had come from over there... but where specifically? And whom screamed? He couldn’t tell, not yet... Reaching into his belt for his small pair of binoculars, Syrius began searching the streets for any activity. Nothing... Nothing... Aha! A mugging... Simple, too easy, too much attention, dangerous. Idiot. And poor victim... Scared at of his or her mind.

Watching as the events unfolded of the dash for freedom with the loot, the screaming victim and the sirens of a cop answering the plea for help, the thief sighed unhappily as he crouched down low to continue to observe. Why do something so unnecessarily loud, complicated... It didn’t nothing to help anyone, especially yourself. Caused yourself to be caught easier, put trauma on the victim... Many different variables to consider. Shrugging, Syrius resigned himself to just watch and wait. His own job would come soon, later in the evening when activity died down even more. Who cared about something like that. Still, it stayed on his mind for the long while he sat up there, hidden away and awaiting the time to move on his target down below...

Why?

December 22nd. Three days till Christmas and he was trying to ruins someone's X-Mas (or was he?). Why would anyone, even someone as disgusting and lowborn as himself, do that? Why would he go ahead and decide to play another game of chance with fate and decide to rob someone? Or something? Stealing from elitists of society, from the challengers of the game, and from the corrupt of the government was one thing, but from a simple store of the people? It seemed morally wrong. It was morally wrong. The answer: Why not?

Sliding down a angled roof and onto the near-stable icy rooftop of the store located near his old friend the blind bum on the street. Good fellow, he was helping the Salvation Army, bless his heart. Chuckling as he slid to a stop, Syrius glanced down into the store to see any likely targets for the toys he wanted to steal later on. Shrugging, Syrius turned and headed over to the edge of the building and was about to jump to another one when he suddenly slipped on a bit of black ice. Cursing himself for a fool, Syrius was suddenly falling forward into the abyss that was a deep alleyway when his fingers clutched onto the side of the building he was falling from and gripped it in a death grip. Almost yelling out in pain as his shoulder nearly dislocated from the sudden yank of all his weight on one hand, Syrius bit his lip and shut his eyes as tears of pain fell down his cheeks. And suddenly, he was remembering something.

Dashing down a hallway with a whole handful of folders in his hands, Syrius was gasping for breath as he turned a corner and heard a sudden ricochet of bullets impacting on concrete, followed by their loud reports of BANG BANG. He was being chased by his once-fellow employees through what once was his work, caring files of corruption and greed that they didn't wish to be published. He needed to publish them. Needed to. But he needed to survive first...

Snapping back into the present, Syrius shook his head and felt his eyes still watering as he hung from the side of a building... and realization hit him like a stone (finally). Throwing his other hand up and quickly pulling himself up and safely back onto the roof, Syrius gasped for breath as he felt his arms ache from the small but near-deadly mistake. Looking upon this mistake, Syrius thought carefully of what he been planning to do earlier. Hearing the random but loud voice of the bum across the street shouting to someone, "Smilings is my favorite!", Syrius pulled himself to his feet with a grunt and walked over to a ladder leading down into the alleyway of near-death.

Maybe he didn't need to make one person's life unhappy to make another one's happy. Checking for the wad of cash he always has on hand, Syrius thought about what had happened and everything about tonight. Why would he want to buy the gifts instead of steal them for the children at the orphanage? Why wouldn't he do what he do best to get them? Why would he have a heart at all and let this fall affect his thinking? Walking around the building and into the front door of the store, Syrius shrugged. Why not?