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Cipher sprinted mindlessly through the maze of alleyways, frantically glancing behind himself as he prayed his feet would take him somewhere safe. The raindrops pelted him relentlessly, but he had no time to seek cover. Right now, he was an ant being seared under the augmented light of the magnifying glass and the NYPD were the snot-nosed brats forcing him to endure this suffering. He didn't know why they were going after him of all people. It wasn't like he was the one doing the most morally abhorrent actions in the syndicate. There were bigger fish, or, well, axolotls to fry than him.
God, whenever he found out who the sussy baka who compromised his operation was, he'd, uh, teach them a lesson? He didn't actually know what he'd do with them, but he sure would do something. Perhaps he would turn them into a delectable soup. He considered what ingredients would go well in this wonderful concoction of a dish. Some boiled unseasoned chicken would be positively scrum-diddly-umptious, he decided.
No, Cipher! You can't lose focus now! Your life's on the line!
He internally chided himself for having such inane thoughts at a time like this, but he just couldn't help it. Either he faced the potentially crushing reality of his situation, which would render him utterly incapacitated by despair, or he kept skittering along but in complete denial of the true scope of the damage the compromising of his salmon-based money laundering front would cause him. Out of those two options, he chose the latter. The first stage of grief was far more appealing than the fourth at this moment.
However, it was also this moment when the realization of why he had to take the fall for his predicament hit.
He was not Italian.
He'd forever be confined to being a mere associate of the mafia. Forever on the outside looking in. Forever disposable.
Such was Cipher's despair.
Upon having this epiphany, he fell to his knees, having speedran the first three stages of grief and gone straight to the fourth. He crumpled further into a pitiful heap on the cold pavement. What had everything he had done been for? All he wanted was to be part of something bigger than himself, which he did manage to achieve, but he had gotten greedy. Power-hungry, even. He tried to force himself into a place that wasn't for him and now he was paying the price.
Alas, poor Cipherlotl. How far you have fallen from your days as a humble Twitch streamer.
Cipher could hear the piercing wail of the police sirens approaching as he thought of everything he could've and should've done. Just what had he messed up? He thought he vetted his employees as thoroughly as humanly possible. He thought he was connected with the right people. Just what had happened? He didn't cross someone he shouldn't have, right? Even if he did, he wouldn't snitch on them. He had no reason to compromise a goodfella, and even less reason to cooperate with a bunch of feds. Even if he wasn't a made man, he would uphold the omertà for their safety. He was a man of his word, dammit! Or, well, lack thereof, but you get the point.
He dejectedly raised his head up as the rain died down a little and gasped at what he saw before him. It was the back entrance of his old apartment building! Sure, he didn't officially live there anymore, but he still paid the rent in case he needed somewhere on the down low to stay. This was the perfect situation to use it. He peeled himself off the ground and entered the structure, uneventfully going up the elevator to reach his humble abode. This bought him some time.
Once the elevator reached his floor, Cipher staggered out of it and to his apartment. It hadn't hit him just how drained he was from being pursued so relentlessly. The adrenaline coursing through his veins must've prevented his exhaustion from completely overwhelming him. As he locked his door, he took a gander at his surroundings. It was just as he left it, albeit under a rather thick layer of dust. For his purposes, though, it would suffice.
He hobbled, bracing himself against the wall as he made his way towards his room. He chuckled wistfully to himself as he opened the door, revealing his once-pristine streaming setup. Oh, how times have changed. He had so many wonderful memories of gaming with his like-minded streamer friends, interacting with his unhinged (affectionate) fans, and all-around just having a good time.
He knew the police were closing in on him, but he didn't care. Cipher carefully stepped towards his gaming chair and took a seat, spinning himself so he could see his monitor. He was compelled to turn on his computer out of habit, but wasn't greeted with the comforting greens of his desktop screen. Instead, he was forced to look at his bedraggled self in the dark void of his now-nonfunctional display. Where had that once bright-eyed streamer gone? When had he been replaced by a mere dead-eyed husk?
It was then he understood. He couldn't go back to how he was. It was far too late for him.
The footsteps were getting louder. Cipher could feel each thud of the police's boots shake the floor.
He smiled sadly to himself.
It looks like you were the sussy baka all along.