1929 - Somewhere in America

"There isn't a lot of time, you need to get in this car and drive. I don't care where you go, but you can't be here. Everything has gone to shit. They're coming. Don't you hear me?! They're coming! Get out, now. Fuck."

The broom stood still in complete defiance. It was the sort of thing he would have expected from the toaster, but the broom? It usually took things like this more seriously. Upset with the infraction, he kicked it across the room and watched as the handle splintered off into multiple directions. He was going insane cooped up here in the cottage that his father had built all of those years ago-- now there was a man, the type of man who could actually accomplish something, while all his son could do was stay put and obey the rules.

"I need to get out of here.", he wasn't kidding. His mind couldn't handle another week locked away like the fantastical princesses of yore, there must be some sort of distraction that he could cause. Looking around the place there wasn't much in the way of diversions except for one thing, a dangerous and not so subtle thing. Taking a lighter, he set ablaze a curtain in an act that would make any arsonist proud.

At first the burn was slow to react, before creeping up to the wooden walls. After this it grew and grew at a pace that he almost wasn't expecting even though it accomplished exactly what he sought out to do. Fire alarms begun to blare and multiple men dashed inside the room which seems to have shrunk in his mind; instead of a large cottage it was now merely a cell, and the raging fire was simply a piece of paper laying on the floor which had now been dispatched of with an extinguisher.

"You've been nothing but fucking trouble since you've come here.", one of the three guards who had entered the room barked at the man who was off cowering in the corner.

"Take him to the warden. He said if any more issues came up...", another of the guards laughed upon hearing the words.

Handcuffs were always tighter than you'd expect, especially while begin dragged across multiple hallways like some sort of animal, but maybe that's exactly what he was. His mind wasn't the sharpest, his constant need for instant gratification had led him down many bad roads throughout his life, this latest was no different. Finally he arrived to a rather large room off in another section of what was only to be assumed a prison.

"Sir, we have..."

"I know who you have."

Dismissing the three men, the warden walked over and eyed the man up and down. There wasn't a lot of conversation for the first few minutes, which could be marked up to an intimidation tactic or at the very least an attempt to gather his words as to sound as important as possible.

"Have you ever heard the story of Sisyphus, boy? A strong, proud man. He too thought that he could challenge those above him in hierarchy. Do you know what happened to him?"

This was his chance. Lunging forward, the weapon he had been holding in secrecy for all of these days was lodged into the warden's throat. He had planned this for weeks, and it all culminated in this moment; the pretending to have a psychotic breakdown, the cowering in his cell, the lack of showering, well, that one was on him and he really should groom better, but everything else had been meticulously planned. As blood poured out of the warden's neck and all over him, the man remembered exactly which window was the one that he would be able to make his daring escape-- the warden always left it open when he was giving one of his speeches.

Slipping a bit on the slick floors, he was able to use the lubrication to force himself out like a newborn baby. Now all he needed to do was run a few thousand yards and he would be home-free, one of his friends on the outside would be waiting for him; this would be the most difficult part of the journey and perhaps the most impossible. His legs could only carry him so fast and his only hope was that they would not notice in time to sound the alarms while he was still in the vicinity.

"Home fucking fr..."

A sharp blow to the back of his head was all he could feel at this particular moment, and finding himself unable to move was lending a lot of complications to his escape. Everything had gone black. Once he woke up, nothing would be the same for him ever again.

He had been on a lot of binges in his life, but none that hurt as bad as this one. In fact, you could say that pain like this hadn't been felt by him in his entire life. Which is why when the bag was removed from his head and he could finally speak again, you can imagine that the words which exited into the air weren't exactly the kindest you could think of.

"So, you're awake... and who are you, exactly?"

Not wanting to give them his actual name he went back to the story the warden had attempted to tell him, "Sisyphus."

There was some silence in the air before the person that stood before him, wearing what looked to be a full on leather suit, began to laugh in the most odd of voices. It was almost more of a wheeze, as if he were extremely ill. Watching him walk further and further away from the seat that he was strapped to, the man tried to budge with no avail.

"Sisyphus it is then. I take it that you do not know me? I overheard a rather drunk man talking about a jail break, and the details he gave were so outlandish that I almost didn't believe it. Killing a warden? This is a bit over the top, no? So I decided that I just had to meet the man who would come up with such an idea."

He paused his speech to take a gasp for air, almost as if he had been struggling the entire time, and then continued.

"You may call me Bill, and I have an offer for you."

Going into details, Bill told Sisyphus all about a group of men stationed in Detroit who needed cleaning out. They were bad men, the same type who would kidnap a man attempting a jail break, and they were encroaching on Bill's territory. Feeling that this was his only way out of the situation he had put himself into, and not exactly in the position to negotiate, he agreed.

"Tomorrow, Sisyphus, you will make us very rich men."

If only it were that easy... if only anything would ever be easy for him again.

Tomorrow

The date was set and Bill had given him everything he needed to make this a successful atmosphere, there were dozens of men in his employment and each of them worked like a cog in what seemed to be the most greased wheel he had ever seen in his life. You could call it naivety or maybe just a lack of understanding on how these things worked, but Sisyphus was certain that this would go not only without a hitch, but make him so much money that he'd never need to work another day in his life; the promise of $200,000 upon completion was enough to riddle his brain with enough daydreaming to last a lifetime.

"Hey there, handsome. We've been waiting for you."

There she was, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Three others which looked just like her followed directly behind, each of them wearing a shorter cut skirt than the other, their blonde hair blowing in the breeze while they slowly circled the man who seemed to be wearing the most expensive clothing that one could afford; sitting on what looked to be a golden calf, he let the women each take turns rubbing his massively constructed arms and fighting over who would be the one to be taken into his mansion which was perched just behind them.

The one who was calling herself Barbara successfully managed to push her way past the other women, her heaving breasts shoved directly in Sisyphus face as she whispered softly into his ear, "Boss, are we doing this or what? It's almost midnight."

*POP*

Snapping back into reality, the fully kitted out men all stood in front of Sisyphus who had to quickly wipe the droll from his chin and jump up from the chair he had been sitting in. He had never been called a boss before, and truth be told he wasn't sure if he liked the idea of having so much being thrust onto him at once. Soon he would find out that his gut feeling was correct, but for now only slight doubts swirled around in his mind.

"Yeah, let's... let's do this. You all know the drill."

Nodding and quietly talking among themselves, his boys were geared up with the finest of weaponry and protection in this new modern age. All of them wearing their darkest clothes to mask themselves in the shadow of night, it was time to move on what looked to be only a small outfit of maybe twelve or thirteen people. Bill had eyes on this place all month and the scouting of the area had been going on for even longer than that, the first thing Sisyphus was taught in this new line of work he found himself thrust into was that you can't ever do too much planning.

What he didn't know was that Bill did planning for him as well, and not the kind that would see him live for very much longer. As they surrounded the building where the targets were spending their afternoon, he felt a slight unease just before making the signal to attack and once the hail of bullets started, it nearly ended almost as fast. Kicking one of the doors down, he made it inside and what he found would sink his stomach to its very core.

"None of them are armed, what the fuck is this?"

"I thought this was a drug house?"

The confusion inside was deafening and it would only become more-so when the sound of sirens could be heard bleating from all around the joint. He was going to find himself back in prison almost as quickly as he had escaped, and this time he was sure it would be even worse due to his grand escape. Unable to feel much lower about the situation, he decided that instead of feeling sorry for himself his would be the perfect time to fight; and just as he crouched to the floor and placed his hand on the trigger, getting ready to take a shot at the police themselves, a whisper was heard behind him, just loud enough that he could hear it over everything else going on.

"This way. Hurry."

Without questioning, Sisyphus followed the noise. It lead him back outside, just outside of view of one of the police officers who were attempting to scout the area. A few feet to the right and he would have been caught, but it was as if the voice knew. It continued to giggle and speak to him as if it were constantly moving; was this what psychosis was like? Either way, it was working and you never argue with a method that works, even if it is slightly mad. Just like that, he was free. No more sirens could be heard, no more men confused and yelling to one another, no more bullets whizzing past. Only silence now.

"You're welcome."

It was another whisper, and Sisyphus was still unsure of where it came from. A scientific guess would be that it came from someone hiding in the bushes and weeds who had a better view of everything from where they stood, but deep inside he felt that maybe it was something deeper than that. Before he could get any more philosophical on what just happened, a car pulled up near him and two men stepped out of it.

"Sisyphus, yeah? We have someone who would like to have a few words with you."

Last time someone wanted to speak with him it didn't go too well, but at least this time he wasn't being attacked. So with a sigh, he agreed to meet with whoever it was. Surely it couldn't be any worse than the last meeting... could it?

YOU TRIED TO STEAL MY PAINT BRUSH!

Upon arriving at the meeting place there was someone standing there with a suitcase in his hand. He spoke in a jumbled mess and continuously called himself Van Gogh which stuck Sisyphus as odd seeing as how the world famous post-impressionist painter had died years ago and who would ever want to pretend to be Dutch? Waving a gun in their hands they seemed to be extremely unkempt with their hair wild and mind following suit.

"YOU TRIED TO STEAL MY PAINT BRUSH!"

The words echoed in the room as he aimed the pistol at Sisyphus and decided to fire. Closing his eyes, he began to think about the simpler times in his childhood when he would watch himself for days at a time due to both of his parents never being around and unable to afford a nanny meant he took care of himself mostly; one summer he even stole a car, one of the first he had ever seen out on the roads that wasn't accompanied by a horse.

*Plink*

While hearkening back to his spry younger days the bullet managed to find a way to completely miss him. Was this fate? No, not at all apparently, instead the Van Gogh himself just had very shaky hands most likely due to some sort of arthritis. Poor guy, Sisyphus could now think to himself as the man quickly grabbed up the suitcase and ran out of the area. Was that who he had come here to meet? It made no sense to him...

That's when she walked into the room. He hadn't seen her before, nor did he know her name or where she was from. All of this was so new to him, but he would learn quickly who Katerina was. They were who would invite him into the fold as Bill had once promised, but for real this time... probably, hopefully.

Still a bit confused by the whole ordeal that had just happened, Sisyphus fought up the courage to speak first and hope that it would show some sort of initiative.

"I hear you wanted to speak with me?"