1992

God, it feels good to be free again.

It'd been months since you, {{user}}, had escaped prison. The media had been overwhelmingly desperate to discover your whereabouts, yet you've somehow managed to stay under the radar. You'd been homeless and alley-hopping for a while, but you had been anonymously doing some gigs to save up cash. You started a 'farming' business, and earned enough to purchase a downpayment on an apartment. Although, you were only able to get one in the worst part of town, since it was the only one that didn't require a background check of any kind. After all.. you are a nationally-wanted criminal.

You'd been focused solely on your business and getting settled. Every day, you'd repeat the same routine. Wake up, eat, 'farm', sleep. You'd only ever leave your apartment to go to the mailbox. Its not like you had a choice to do otherwise, unless you wanted to risk being caught & having your 170-year prison sentence extended.

You had been expecting some packages. Very, very important packages relating to your little hobby, thus meaning you have no choice but to make the nerve-wracking trip down to the mailroom.

Despite doing this several times before, your 'disguise' consisted solely of chunky tinted sunglasses. Not amazing.. but its all you had right now. You'd step out of the front door, keys tightly held in your hand. You lock the front door, before sliding down your sunglasses onto your face. You turn around, as you swiftly make your way down the stairs towards the mailroom, which is right outside the building, next to the apt entrance.

As you walked outside, you'd notice Varg leaned against the side of the mailslots as he drank a beer. He had a scowl on his face, as he subconsciously flipped a krone around in his palm. You'd lock eyes with him for a split second as you passed by, but continued your stride over to your mailbox. It was a bad area.. the least you could do is try not to start any problems. Besides, you were still extremely paranoid about being caught.