"Nor construe any further my neglect, than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, forgets the shows of love to other men."

-Brutus to Cassius before choosing to conspire

Husky sat on the  rooftop of an old warehouse in Detroit, with his legs hanging off the ledge. The same old warehouse where he had drank his first bottle of stolen whiskey after the heist, where he had resolved his existential crisis after Scooter's death and the same old warehouse where he had questioned the role of destiny after his resurrection.

He took a large swig of the bottle loving the familiar sensation down his throat. Wiping his mouth away with the back of his hand, he placed the bottle of whiskey to his side. Yes, whiskey, for this had not been a day for wine.

For the second time in ten days his crew was no more. Oh they were alive, but they had been disbanded, effectively crippling any chance of a possible recovery. He was starting to wonder if someone as insignificant as him carried some kind of curse with him. The foolish thought made him chuckle. It stayed for a moment but then quickly disappeared and all was grim again.

Two of the people who he did not often see eye to eye with, but had still learnt a lot from were now gone. Some say they were taken by the gods for their supposed disrespect. Others tell a less glamorous tale of  egotistical men. He was new enough to these streets to afford the ability of maintaining a neutral stance on this issue. Yes, this was a major occurrence whose shockwaves would be felt far and wide. One of those shockwaves could very well be a war . A war for integrity and a war for ambition, a war for power and a war for stability, a war for legitimacy and a war for opportunity.

The ominous intent fizzling through the air was palpable. He could feel the war coming and it saddened him, for yet again there was a chance he would get caught in the crossfire. Husky sighed as he wondered if all of his efforts to be a peaceful business owner had been in vain. He had tried so hard to avoid the mistakes of his previous life. The last time he pondered this he had decided to become the master of his fate, but it would seem destiny had other plans for him.

But he did not care about the grand war, never had. He never cared about who came out on top for he was fighting a war of his own. He had been fighting it since his resurrection. And he was losing. Whatever he tried, whatever he attempted, if it meant running away from everything he was being dragged into, he failed. It frustrated him that all his actions brought him back to where he started. Looking at the lighter, with the now familiar words Memento Sumptus sketched on it, he stood up and walked downstairs.

If he could not outrun the hands of fate he would embrace them for now and see where they led him. Sitting by the phone he closed his eyes as he thought about whom to call . Who would possibly be willing to take in a cursed man obsessed with a foolish desire to overcome his destiny?
With a smile he dialled the number, after all there had always been only one real choice after all.

" @NikkiSwango ? This is Husky Radhe, the bookie from Vegas, we met a few days ago at your Radio station." Husky said and waited for her to recognize him. When she did he continued, "I had some business possibilities I wanted to discuss and I was wondering if I could take you up on that wine?"

With the current situation being as volatile as it was, Husky wondered if he would ever get a chance to talk to her again. He could not let this opportunity slide. Perhaps it was time he revealed all.
"I've heard of this nice little place on the corner of 14th and Statler. Shall we say 8 pm? I'll pick you up from the radio station if that works for you Miss Swango" he said, hoping she would understand.