'Boredom has been a given part of existence, from the very first marks of higher order thinking, to the present day. It serves to motivate the body and mind to action when in times of idleness; whether to procure food or territory, or break social stagnation. A direct result of inactivity, boredom can be an indicator of negative health factors in one's lifestyle, but in itself is completely harmless.'
Sly Cooper shook his head as he read the paragraph from Dr. Tortmerius Breto's A Civil Guide to Modern Psychology, which he had stolen from a bookstore a week ago. He couldn't disagree more with the old shrink. To him, life was to be lived in motion, in danger and adventure; to live daringly was the Cooper way.
He sat at a table in the kitchen, the thick tome laid before him. One hand propped up his chin wearily while the other drummed its fingers in a rhythm-less tune. He gave a long, despairing sigh, Months, three months since his last heist! Coopers were meant to live their lives like Blue Stars, burning with power, men of action until they burned out all of their energy; even then, their ends magnificent.
This was not how a Cooper lived.
He loved Dante with all his heart, and would endure nigh any torture for his husband. But this was mortal agony. Dante was a proficient thief, and could certainly be helpful in a heist, but it wasn't the same when his husband was there. His unceasing concern and near homicidal protectiveness were an omnipresent anchor, keeping him from fully embracing thievery in the Cooper way. It shamed him to think it, but Dante was suffocating.
But he couldn't put all the blame on his husband. Very few worthwhile opportunities had presented themselves in recent times. Petty robbery was out of the question; by no means was it the way to forge a legacy befitting his heritage. Oh, and seeing how I'm never going to have children, I'm probably going to be the last of my century-spanning dynasty- He cut off the bitter mental rant before it could take hold; such problems were the last thing he wanted to think about.
With a long, melancholy sigh, he shoved the psychology book away, unable to bear reading any more of the dry text. As the tome slid away, it shifted a pile of unsorted mail and magazines. From the corner of his eye, Sly noticed a red bordered page with bright gold words. On a whim, he extracted the page, which turned out to be an issue of a science magazine.
As his eyes ran over the words and pictures on the page, his formerly depressed frown burst into his trademark ear-to-ear grin, and his eyes flashed with excitement. He leapt from his chair, knocking it over in the process, and dashed into the rest of the house, magazine clamped in one hand. "Bentley, Murray, I've just found the end to our employment issues!"
XXXXXX
The sky over Moscow was clean azure and not the thinnest of clouds hung over the city, but the air was cold and icy sharp. The sun sat in the sky, but gave no warmth to the citizens below; the persons of the three-thirty commuter floods walked with hats and scarves pulled close and jackets drawn tight.
Among them Seyrei Russo marched on the sidewalk, concealed in a sea of hard-set faces and robust bodies; here, he needed no disguise, he was camouflaged in plain sight. He walked in step with hands shoved in his coat pockets, the patter of shoes and the growl of car engines surrounding him.
Then, with a single turn and a step into an adjacent alleyway, he was alone again. Cold shadow covered him as he started to walk down the alley. His boots crunched on the wet gravel and the sound reverberated off the chipped and cracked brick walls to either side of him, but there were none to hear.
Several minutes journey found Seyrei back in the open. He was in a small lot surrounded on three sides by buildings, with the last side exposed to the street. Small clumps of skittish birds pecked at the concrete and a group of listless teenagers eyed him from a porch but did not move as he stepped from his backway passage and into the lot.
He crossed the open yard to his destination: a tall, squat boarding house whose decrepit red brick front and unwashed windows were even less inviting than the dark dampness of the alley. He skirted a deep puddle and walked up to the door without a single glance edgewise.
He tested the handle and, finding it to be unlocked, pulled the door open. It creaked loudly and he stepped inside.
The small room was much statelier than the outside of the building would suggest; smooth polished wooden planks made up the floor, upon which lay a slightly dusty green rug and four padded armchairs and a small table. A long desk covered in a disarray of papers and empty bottles sat along one wall. The room was well lit by a number of wall lamps that lent a calming brightness to the room. There were even several potted plants and hanging pictures of warm, tropical places and flowers.
A television set sat in one corner of the room, the shiny screen displaying a pretty-faced newswoman giving the week's weather forecast. In one of the armchairs in front of the television a fat boar slouched facing away from him with a an open bottle of liquor in one trotter watching the newscast.
The door slid shut behind Seyrei with a wooden thump and the figure in the chair turned his flabby head in his direction. The house's landlord gazed at him for several seconds with small, watery eyes, and then jerked his head towards a staircase that occupied another corner, causing his pudgy jowls to quaver petulantly. The landlord was not one for conversation, and Seyrei had no problem with that in the least, simply nodding his thanks before placing a hand on the steel banister and starting to walk up the steps.
The steps beneath his feet creaked and groaned incessantly as he climbed four flights of the stairs, and clouds of dust floated up in the musty air and clung to his jacket. Seyrei allowed himself a small grimace: it was apparent that this part of the building hadn't been cleaned in years.
At the top of the flight he followed the connected hallway past several doors until he came to one near the end of the hall. He reached toward the handle, expecting it to be locked. To his surprise, the handle twisted freely and the door swung inwards. He peered into the darkness within before slowly stepping inside.
The apartment was completely unlit, and a lining of dust coated the floor and walls. The windows were shuttered and only a few broken pieces of furniture littered the rooms. At a glance, the whole apartment seemed deserted.
But Seyrei stepped through the empty living space and went to the far wall. He placed both hands on a square of peeling wallpaper and pressed hard. There was a click, and he pushed the panel in and to the left.
The false wall hissed and slid smoothly away, retracting into itself, revealing a small opening. A breeze of cool air blew through the passage and he entered.
This room was similarly dim, but the darkness was pervaded by a bluish glow. Several seconds later his eyes adjusted enough to make out the contents of the room.
Almost every inch of the walls were covered in shelves, upon which were crammed a menagerie of objects: fat stacks of papers, bundles of cords and plugs, piles of computer parts and other unidentifiable paraphernalia. Where the walls weren't covered with shelves, the spaces were occupied with huge boxy server machines that blinked small green lights and filled the room with a constant whirring hum. Situated on the other end, he could make out a sofa, upon which sat a pillow and a blanket. He frowned; the only thing that was missing was the person who lived in this place.
"Patrik, are you there? It's Sey-"
He was cut off by a sharp nasally voice.
"I know, I saw you walk into the building, Seyrei." He snapped his head in the direction of the voice and noticed a thick cloud of pale smoke floating next to the sofa. He began walking across the room towards it. He saw there were no windows in the secret hideaway.
"How? I couldn't see any cameras in the lobby." He said evenly as he drew nearer to the cloud. Pausing before it, he waited for a reply. A moment passed and he entered the fog.
"And that's why they call me the best, my friend." In front of him was a black metal table upon which sat an enormous computer with six screens, and more devices plugged to it than Seyrei could place names for. Most of the screens were bright, displaying incomprehensible images, or scrolling with blocks of unintelligible words and numbers. And sitting in a wheeled office chair, eyes pasted to the screens, was a dark gray rat that couldn't have been out of his twenties.
Seyrei coughed loudly and waved a hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to dissipate the choking smog around him. "Has anyone ever told you that smoking is bad for your health Desalahov?" He complained.
Patrik turned in his seat and looked at him. The rat wore a pair of torn jeans and a similarly mutilated black shirt over his stringy torso. On his arm was strapped some manner of overly complicated watch. His fur was short and greasy, and his eyes were beady and suspicious looking. Clamped almost protectively between his smoke-yellowed teeth was a great thick cigar, which was the source of the noxious fumes.
The rat put on an expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness and spoke, "Why yes, I have. In fact, you tell me yourself every damn time you show up here." He punctuated the statement by sucking in a large draw and blowing it deliberately in the mercenary's face. He ignored Russo's low growl of anger and continued, "And like you have room to talk, you old bastard; has anyone ever told you that getting shot and stabbed is bad for your health?"
Seyrei redoubled his coughing before snarling "Getting shot and stabbed I can live with, but this is fucking unbearable."
Patrik simply smiled innocently, "We'll see which one of us kicks it first then eh?" If any person on the street looked at the rat sitting before him, they would see just another foul mannered young person that spent too much time on a computer. At a glance, nobody would realize Patrik Desalahov was one of the most accomplished computer hackers in the world, on the payroll of the Kremlin and freelance agent, and if you believed the rumors, the only person to ever break into the ThiefNet servers.
Seyrei was inclined to believe. Leaning against a wall, he gestured at the collection of junk that filled the walls and spoke with a more serious tone. "So have you got it? You told me I could expect to get it by now."
Patrik simply nodded. Seemingly from nowhere he pulled a fat black cylinder about the size of a soup can. The smooth surface was fairly unremarkable, except for one of the ends, from which protruded an interface plug and a shiny key-like switch. When Seyrei took the object from Patrik's hand, he found it to be oddly heavy.
He was still gazing at the object when the diminutive hacker began speaking. "That will get you through the firewalls set up around ThiefNet's servers. I've programmed it with a code breaker that will allow you to bypass their security without being noticed." He took a look at Seyrei's blank expression and snorted. "I know you are severely deprived of experience with computers, so I've made it really easy for you and automated the program." Seyrei scowled at the rat's patronizing jabs but listened without interrupting.
"You just stick that protruding bit into any computer that was made fairly recently with an internet connection and it will get you in. But make sure you don't screw up, it's designed to fry itself after one use, so don't unplug it until you have everything you need."
Seyrei nodded once and pocketed the code breaker. Once more the hacker spoke. "And for the love of God, don't lose it. Do you have any idea how hard it was to make a code that can beat ThiefNet's defenses?"
Seyrei simply grinned and said "That's why they call you the best."
"Humph, damn right I am." Patrik said and turned back to the screens. Once again in the 'Tech Trance' as he dubbed it, that he entered while using a computer, the rat was silent. Reaching into another pocket, Seyrei pulled out a thick stack of hundred Ruble notes and set them next to Patrik on the table. He turned and started towards the secret door to the fake apartment when Patrik called out. He turned and looked at him.
The rat was still facing the screens when he said, "I hear on the Interpol channels that you're going after the Cooper Gang." Seyrei just stood, letting the silence answer for him. Patrik nodded, "When you find them, could you punch that shelled prick in the face for me and Uncle Stevstey?"
Stevstey Desalahov had been Patrik's guardian as a child and mentor in the ways of computer manipulation. Stevstey had been a wealthy and respected Data Miner and information dealer, before certain up and coming Cooper Gang member broke into his personal system and stole a fortune's worth of data before alerting police. He died soon after in prison. Seyrei had always found that both he and Patrik were alike in their hatred for criminals, as ironic as it would seem.
In all the years Seyrei had known Patrik, the rat had never made a personal request of him. He stood in the doorway for a moment, then his grin widened and as he slipped out, he called back.
"Count on it."
XXXXXX
Several hours later found Seyrei Russo on the other side of Moscow in his room at the inexpensive motel he had rented. He had taken back streets and alleyways for the majority of the journey, yet had still gone painfully slow and cautiously, refusing to take even the slim chance of being followed.
He sat on the bed in the dark room, curtains drawn and cloth stuffed in the crack under the door, hunched over a laptop computer. Reflecting Patrik's remarks, even he admitted that the machine was probably quite outdated, but it served its purpose well and he had forgone more complex models.
His face, illuminated by the light from the screen, was a mask of anticipation. In theory, he had used similar methods many times before, and had learned that the internet could be a cornucopia of useful information on a hunt. But in practice, he had never tried searching the ThiefNet, which could be a holy grail of tools for a person like him.
He pondered for a moment why Patrik had not sold his method of breaking into the database, but quickly understood. Such a secret weapon was not only a goldmine, but an ace in the hole. Because if the Infamous ThiefNet could be infiltrated, how much more difficult could it be to violate the highest echelons of a Government? The message Patrik sent to any potential enemy, or employer, was clear: Cross me, and all your darkest secrets are mine.
Carefully holding the code breaker, he plugged the heavy cylinder into a port on the side of the laptop.
For a long moment nothing happened. Then, windows popped up onto the screen from nowhere, flashing icons and lights in a dizzying storm, and command prompts and walls of code cascaded down the screen so quickly that his eyes hurt to look at them. He squeezed them shut and shook his head.
A moment later he opened his eyes and studied the display. A look of shock passed on his face, followed by a predatory grin of satisfaction.
He was in.
He cracked his knuckles eagerly; the temptation provided by the promise of powerful knowledge against the world's worst scum was great, but he remembered Patrik's warning and set to work, sifting through this world of data to find a clue to his prey.
It was later that evening when Seyrei Russo stood up from the bed, throwing open the curtains and retracting the rags from the doorway. He pulled the Code Breaker from the laptop; almost immediately the device gave a shrill beep and crackled as waves of unseen current wreaked fatal havoc in its innards and was a soon silent, a tendril of acrid smoke curling from holes in the black casing. Dropping the dead machine on the carpet, he stomped powerfully on the device, shattering its shell and pulverizing the ruined components within. Calmly, he opened the room's window and tossed the broken remains out onto the street.
Turning back, he closed the laptop and stuffed it into a bag that he slung over his shoulder. Opening the door, he strode out with a look of absolute professionalism on his hard face. In his mind were only thoughts of determination, and the image he had studied on that computer screen, and the words that were branded to his memory.
Posted 19 hours ago by SlyCoopGang
Big job coming up Thursday; ready or not, here we come Belis-Phen's!
Seyrei was down the hall before the door clicked shut, moving with savage joy to hail a shuttle to the airport.
He'd never seen a more beautiful Tuesday night.
Alright, so first off I'm sorry for vanishing from existence for a while, but I met some distraction. From here I should be updating fairly quickly, and Sly and Russo should be meeting for the first time in about two chapters, so bear with me please.
As always, read and review!