Cyrus walked out of the broom closet and found himself in a long hallway with windows on one side and office doors on the other. His intel told him that the two men in the broom closet were planning on stealing some financial records from the building and selling it to a faction outside the city. The faction, naming itself the People's Revolution and Armament Group, or P.R.A.G. for short, utilized terrorist tactics to make their point. Their goal was to cause destruction and to scare not only the government, but the public. No one was sure what they wanted, but one could only assume they were full of ex soilders and mercenaries who simply wanted to cause chaos. Within the past few months, attacks have been increasing, as have their members. What they could gain with financial information, Cyrus didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't want the information falling into the wrong hands to be exploited somehow.
Cyrus ran down the empty hallway. Looking to his right, out the window, he could see smoke billowing from somewhere beside the building. The men he was following would lead him to the records they were stealing. Cyrus had to keep his distance, as he didn't want to be seen. However, if he lost them in the labyrinth of hallways, staircases, and offices, he doubted he would be able to find them again. He turned a corner just as a door to a starwell closed. Cyrus sprinted to the door and opened it a smidge. He saw the two men walking up the staircase. Gently, Cyrus opened the door enough to squeeze himself through. Closing the door behind him, he began ascending.
Cyrus followed the men eight floors. He had to stop twice because he had thought they had heard him.
Patience, Cyrus thought. He didn't want to have to chase these guys down. After sixteen flights of stairs and eight floors, the two men walked through another door. Cyrus took the last staircase three at a time and stopped the door from closing before it could latch shut. Cyrus looked out to see one of the men unlocking a door at the far side of the hallway. They stepped in, and Cyrus opened the door and walked down the hallway. He thought of how he would approach the pending situation. Cyrus smirked.
He loved confrontation.
Cyrus opened the door to the room where the two men were stuffing folder after folder into a satchel.
"Hey there." Cyrus said cheerfully. The two men looked up from their business and froze for a second. It was all Cyrus needed. In lightning speed, Cyrus grabbed the man closest to him at the wrist, twisted it until he heard a pop, and kicked the man in the knee, where he heard another satisfying pop. The man dropped to the ground crying in pain. The second man made a dash to the other side of the room, where there was a door. Cyrus grabbed an office chair with one hand and chucked it with all his might. It hit the poor guy square in the back and he toppled over. Cyrus walked over to the wimpering person as he was crawling, trying to regain his balance as he stood up, hunched over. Cyrus grabbed his shirt at the chest and lifted him up against a wall.
"So, did you pack everything in the bag for me yet? Or is there still more?" Cyrus said through gritted teeth.
"Y-y-y-yeah. I-i-it's all there, man. T-take it," he replied.
Lie. Cyrus thought.
"Bummer, because for some reason, I don't believe you," Cyrus said, pulling his tactical knife from his breast sheath with his free hand. He put the tip of it in the man's nostril and began twisting.
"Oh God! Okay okay okay! Most of it's in there. The rest is in file cabinet A! Row six! Holy God just get that knife outta my nose!" the man yelled.
Truth. The sharp tip of a knife tended to act very well as an interrogation tool.
"Cyrus resheathed the knife, grabbed a letter opener from the desk next to him, raised the man up as high as he could lift him, and shoved the letter opener through the collar of the mans shirt into the wall behind him, effectively pinning him to the wall.
"Whoever's payin' you must be offering a hell of a lot to risk having your nostrils gauged," Cyrus said. Wanting to make an impression on these two and keep them from messing around with the wrong kind of people, Cyrus gripped both the man's arms and yanked down as hard he could. The shirt tore a little at the collar, but that sound was overtaken by the sound of the man's shoulders popping out of place. This would ensure he wouldn't be reaching up behind him to free himself from his letter opener prison. And besides, if his buddy is in pain because of a dislocated wrist and knee, it's only fair this guy have dislocated shoulders.
"Next time you think to sell bad things to the wrong people, you'll remember this, and hopefully you'll reconsider," Cyrus said. He collected the rest of the files, stuffed them in the satchel, and left.