You were tired. Life was boring. Monotonous and frustrating, the same pattern every day, every single day, every, single, day. The same. No variables, no nothing. Your life was the same. You didn't like that. You wanted thrill. You wanted excitement and danger and adrenaline. So you turned to crime. You'd kind of gained yourself a media following, talking about your crimes and wondering who you could be. It was the most popular you'd ever been, even if they didn't know it was you, and you loved it. ... But you also got the attention of the police. Not good.

The man had you cornered, a chain link fence behind you and the brick of two different buildings beside you. You'd heard the sirens but figured it was fine, and it was not fine. "Put your hands up!" Jack commanded, already drawing his weapon. He had already called in for backup and if you were going to get away, now would be your best - or only - chance. This. This is the type of thrill you lived for.