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Offline Daen

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Full document for people who don't like downloading things
« on: June 24, 2022, 01:31:18 AM »
It was a cold night, in late autumn. The city was its usual bustling self, with glinting lights, planes overhead and boats docked in the marina. It was a weekend too, so the night life was even more rowdy than usual. Unknown to the masses, a figure watched over them from high above. A figure in black, who moved near-silently and with complete confidence. A figure they would all soon know for themselves.

He checked his watch, and pulled out his phone. Checking to see if his footing was still secure, the Sigil set it to Airplane Mode and lifted it up to his mouth. A little clumsily, with the mask, but it would have to do.

"Thursday, July fourteenth, eight seventeen pm," Sigil began, still scouring the area for any signs of filth. "Despite my earlier rocky start, my patrol tonight has been mostly uneventful. I've effectively patrolled four city blocks, and plan to do another eight by sunrise. This city may not be my original home, but it's no less deserving of my protection than any other." He paused, reflecting for a moment. "No one should want something bad to happen, but it's my hope that if something does, I'll be there to stop it. In time, the people down there may start to see me as their protector and benefactor."

He was 'perched' atop a tall apartment building, across the street from a popular movie theater. To the west of the theater was the city's most visited mall, and to the east was the marina. This was truly the commercial heart of the entire area. To the filth down there, it was an all-you-could-eat buffet!

"Help!" Some woman called out down below, and Sigil smiled. It seemed someone had started snacking.

It was a simple matter finding out what had happened. She was shouting and pointing to the southwest, towards an alley, and there was a man running fast in that direction, with a purse trailing behind him in his heedless flight. Sigil shook his head. "A purse-snatcher might seem below me, but everyone has to start somewhere." He shut off the voice recorder on his phone with a sour twist to his lips. He hadn't actually started with a purse snatcher, but as far as posterity was concerned, this was his first outing.

Tracking down the filth was easy enough. The thief was moving fast, and obviously knew this part of the city well, but he was no match for Sigil. Just as the thief climbed up to the roof from a separate alley, easily losing the civilians down there who'd been chasing him, Sigil slammed into him from the opposite side. He barely felt the impact through his armor, but the thief staggered backwards and fell on his back.

It was a good thing that Sigil had waited until his target had been standing, or the criminal would have fallen several stories down onto the alley's pavement.

The filth lived up to his name. His face and clothes were matted with mud, and his hair was dusty and unkempt. The stink of his unwashed flesh was overpowering. Only his brown eyes shone clearly through the mess, and they were wide with fear. "What the hell? Who are you?"

"I'm the Sigil," he responded sardonically, and reached down to grab the thief by his collar. It was very dirty too, but no one said crime-fighting was a clean business. Hefting the filth up, he spun the unfortunate man around and secured his hands. When he reached for his pack though, he froze. He'd forgotten his rope!

Torn with indecision for a moment, Sigil grunted and then moved his prisoner over to one of the air vents on this building. He sat the man down with his back against the metal surface. "You stay put." Standing straight again, he resisted the urge to shake his head. How could he have forgotten the rope? It was a major part of his plans.

He couldn't restrain the man without restraints, and he couldn't risk knocking him unconscious. For all he knew, the filth would end up with a concussion and might even die. A living criminal could tell the tale, but a dead one would give entirely the wrong message to the people. He wanted to be seen as a Sigil of hope, not of fear. Reluctantly, he pulled out his phone again and hit the signal on it. A pre-programmed flag would be sent out from it, to his computer at home, and then to the local police precinct. They would know where the malefactor was now, and come to pick him up.

The slight scraping noise of shoes on the roof's edge caught his ears. One glance at the air vent showed him that his prisoner was missing, and another over at the edge showed a pair of hands disappearing over the side. Sigil grimaced. He wasn't worried about the filth getting away, but he might hurt someone during his attempt. At least he was aware for a criminal, though. He'd grabbed the stolen purse again during his escape.

Once again, it was an easy matter catching up with and resecuring the prisoner. Sigil hauled him right off the fire escape and back up onto the roof. He considered hitting him as a warning, but decided against it. It wasn't his job to punish criminals; just to catch them. He did give the thief a stern glance though, through his mask. "Don't do that again. I'll just catch you again, and I might not be as forgiving if I have to chase you down a third time."

The man's eyes were even wider this time around. "How in God's name did you do that?? What... are you?"

"I'm special," Sigil responded, in the same tone as before, and forced the man back into his sitting position against the metal surface. He quickly checked over the side of the building, but no one seemed to have noticed the filth's attempt to climb down.

"You're certainly different," the filth commented with wonder. His eyes ran up and down Sigil's body armor, no doubt analyzing it for possible weaknesses.

Sigil suppressed a smile. Let him look, for all the good it would do. Between his special abilities, his training, and his armor, there were no weaknesses to find. Not that a common street criminal would be able to do anything even if he found one. All they knew how to do was prey on the weak and the innocent.

"What did you say your name was again?" The filth asked, and Sigil shook his head with annoyance.

"I told you. I'm the Sigil. S-I-G-I-L."

"Like a magic engraving?"

Sigil paused in his slow walk, surprised. "Yes. It's one of many definitions, but that's right. How did you know?"

The man shrugged. "I know a lot of things. So what are we doing up here, Sigil? If you wanted to kill me, I'd be dead already."

"I've contacted the police. They should be here shortly. Until they arrive, I'll make sure you don't run off again. Then they can take the purse, use it to identify the woman you robbed, and get her property back to her."

The criminal only raised his eyebrows unsettlingly. Sigil waited for him to comment, but he just stared for a while. "What?"

The man shook his head. "You're a vigilante who wears a mask, black body armor, and creeps around on rooftops in the dead of night. I have a hard time believing you care even slightly what the cops think."

Sigil speared him with a look. "Policing is a noble profession, if an overworked one. I'm just doing what I can to help them, and make society safer in the process."

The filth snorted. "You don't know a damn thing about what makes society safer."

Despite himself, Sigil let out a growl. "Tell that to the woman I saved yesterday. Her husband was beating her to a pulp, and I stopped it. I made sure he was taken away, and she's safe now!"

"Is that how you got those bruises on your side?"

Sigil hesitated. His side was fully armored, but there were bruises there, yes. "How did you know?"

"You've been favoring your left side ever since you first ran into me. I've been in a scuffle or two; I know what to look for. Let me guess, it wasn't the husband who did that to you. It was the wife. Or maybe the kid, if they have one."

Sigil shook his head quickly, but the filth smiled triumphantly anyway. Somehow, he knew! "I'm here to help people! That's all I want to do!"

"I can see it now," the filth went on. "Some husband was yelling at his wife. He started beating on her, and she cried out in pain. You heard the ruckus, and wanted to make a suitably grand entrance. It's all apartments around here, so you probably came in through a window instead of a hallway door. Shattering glass is much more dramatic than picking a lock and sliding open a window, isn't it?"

"I didn't have time to do it the slow way; he was beating her senseless! I didn't even have time to put on all my armor!"

"Then you did what vigilantes do, and 'intervened'. I'm guessing you wanted to pay him back for every bruise, every cigarette burn, even every shout, but you held yourself back. Very restrained of you. Much more so than your police would have been, I have to say."

"No you don't have to say," Sigil bit out, angry this time. "In fact, it would be better if you didn't 'have to say' anything more until they get here."

The filth fell mercifully silent for a moment, but then shook his head. "Why not? I'm not going anywhere, thanks to you. The cops are overworked, as you said, but they'll be along eventually. Why shouldn't we talk until they get here? Unless you're afraid of what I have to say. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you can show restraint, and that you haven't given me a beating yourself. So the only reason you'd want me to shut up is if you really are afraid. Of what some criminal might say. Some low-down, dirty little-"

"You're filth, " Sigil cut him off. "All of you criminals are! Parasites, feeding on decent people just trying to make a living in this sorry world. You're bottom feeders, unwilling to get an actual job and work for a living like everyone else. I don't hate you- I've worked very hard to consciously not hate you for who you choose to be- but I have to stop you all the same. And all of your thieving and hurting is for what? The thrill of the crime? The risk that you might be caught?"

The filth just stared at him for a moment. "I guess... I'm lucky, then. I'm lucky you're not one of the people who thinks that all of the, uh, filth like me should be killed. If so, you would have just put a bullet in my head and moved on. Or snapped my neck with your superpowers, since I don't see a gun anywhere."

"I don't need a gun," Sigil said softly, regretting his earlier words. As true as they were, he didn't like hurting people. Even filth. There was always a chance they might mend their ways and become productive members of society again. That was the whole point of prisons, wasn't it?

"Well, if you get tired of thinking of me as just 'filth', then call me Jeremy. That's my name, by the way."

They both remained silent for a while. The filth was looking at him with a strange expression, and Sigil slowly paced on the roof. Off in the distance he could hear police sirens, but they were getting fainter. Going somewhere else. What was he even doing here? He was needed elsewhere, and there was more filth to stop. More criminals to detain and hand over to the police. Still, something compelled him to stay. Something more than just making sure 'Jeremy' here didn't get away, he had to admit.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," Jeremy put in surprisingly, and Sigil grimaced. "You tried to do the right thing and stop domestic abuse, and you paid for it."

Sigil didn't need his sympathies. "What makes you think it was the wife who hit me, anyway? Not that I'm saying it was."

The filth shrugged. "I've been on the receiving end of your violence. I'm sure you can handle yourself against some asshole wife beater, but you don't have eyes in the back of your head. The most likely way you got hurt was from behind. She swung something at you, right? A frying pan, maybe?"

"A rolling pin," Sigil whispered. "She was screaming at me, to leave her alone! I couldn't believe it. I mean I'm the good guy here! I was trying to help, and she hit me as hard as she could!"

"I can damn well guarantee it that she was too terrified to press charges against him," the filth went on implacably. "Even if the husband was locked up, he's out by now. Probably seething that you were involved. Guess who he's probably taking that rage out on, right now?"

With a sinking feeling, Sigil realized who he meant. "No," he said resolutely. "He wouldn't go after his wife again; not so soon."

"But he will eventually. It's up to her to walk away. She's the only one who can decide to end this. The best that anyone else can do is make it as easy as possible for her. To make sure she has somewhere to go, and an eventual job if she chooses to stay away from her abuser. To make sure that any kids are cared for and brought to safety, too. That's what social workers are supposed to do. That is what you, someone who by definition is outside the law, can't do for her." He shook his head. "You tried to help, but you only ended up making things worse. I'm sorry about that, too."

A gust of wind picked up, and autumn leaves blew past them into the night sky. Sigil could hear the crowd from a block away, as another movie was getting out. And here he was, being confronted with things he really didn't want to hear. But things he had to, if he was going to be a better symbol to the people of this city. Growth wasn't supposed to be easy, after all.

"It's not at all like I expected," Sigil said softly, more to himself than to Jeremy.

"What, becoming the Sigil?"

He nodded, turning back to his prisoner. "When I got these abilities, and started training them, it felt really good! I've never been that athletic, or at least I wasn't before this. I'd always wanted to be an undeniably good guy. The kind of person everyone looks up to, or at least respects. And then, suddenly, I could be! It was exciting. When I made this mask and put it on for the first time, I felt pure. Like I was finally who I was supposed to be. Finally whole, for the first time in my life! In time, I'm going to become a symbol for everyone who lives here. A Sigil of hope in their lives, or of fear, for criminals like you."

He sighed. "Last night was an unmitigated disaster. I chalked it up to my first time out, and resolved to be more careful in spousal abuse situations. And I will be. As for other crimes, I'm pretty good. I got you easily enough..."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you caught the daring purse-snatcher. Good for you; have a cookie."

Sigil felt a flash of anger. "Hey, at least I'm using my abilities to make things better for other people. You only do this for yourself."

"No, I do this for my daughter!" Jeremy spat out, his eyes and tone suddenly filled with venom. "I do this because she's the one in need, not me! She's the one being eaten away by leukemia, with every day more painful than the last. She's the one with mounting medical bills and no medical insurance since we both got fired. She's the one on waiting lists, for God-only-knows how many experimental procedures and trials, and she's the one who will most likely be dead before even one of them becomes available!"

Taken aback, Sigil just stared at him. Somehow he'd figured that Jeremy didn't have any family. Filth couldn't be trusted to care for anyone, after all. Not even themselves. "I... didn't know. I'm sorry."

The fire in Jeremy's eyes went out, and he leaned back against the vent, laughing. "Nah, I'm just messing with you. I don't have any kids. Never have. But some of my buddies back at the shelter do, and I know for a fact that they're begging on street corners during the day and pickpocketing at night, to provide for their kids. Just because I'm all alone doesn't mean we all are."

Sigil's momentary rage at being lied to faded away quickly, as he realized that Jeremy was probably right. This city did have a huge number of homeless people, and statistically, a lot of them probably had kids of their own.

Still, he wasn't here because of any of them. "So I was right! You did steal this for yourself alone!"

"Sure," Jeremy admitted easily, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the metal frame. "I knew she could afford it. I don't need most of what's in that purse- just the cash."

"You can't possibly know that," Sigil insisted. "For all you know, she's some poor grad student or something, living paycheck to paycheck, and was just spending what little spare cash she had on a night out with her friends!"

Jeremy opened one eye at him, lazily. "Did you see the clothes she was wearing back there? Or her shoes?"

Sigil shook his head. "I didn't pay much attention to the victim. I was too busy looking for her victimizer," he added pointedly.

"They were Louis Vuitton, just so you know," Jeremy went on. "The second most expensive clothing brand there is. And she was wearing them to a movie theater. If that's what she wears in casual settings, imagine how expensive her clothes are when she's at something more important. Trust me, she could afford it. I never steal from anyone who can't afford it."

"That doesn't make it right," Sigil said angrily, not willing to drop this. "You still took something from someone else!"

This time, Jeremy looked at him more intently. "So? That's how we do things in this modern world, isn't it? Hell, it's the same throughout history. Our ancestors took things away from other people, just because they could. Our current leaders do the exact same thing, calling it 'sanctions' or 'leveraged trade' instead of what it really is: stealing. Why do you think some countries have so much more than others? Or if you want to look locally instead, why do you think some people have so, so much more than most everyone else?"

Sigil had never really thought about what happened in other countries, but he shook his head. "I won't just take your word about what's happening over there, but sure, let's talk about here instead. We have laws in place protecting personal property. If I hadn't caught you, the police would have tried to. They enforce the laws, to make sure that nobody steals from anybody else. The only reason people steal stuff anyway is because there aren't enough police to be everywhere at once." What's keeping the cops, anyway? He wondered to himself. It had been like ten minutes by now.

Jeremy laughed again, mockingly, Sigil thought. "Wow, you really have lived a sheltered life, haven't you? Ok, I'll go through this. This is simple stuff to find out, by the way. It's publicly available information, fact-checked by multiple sources with reasons to both believe and disbelieve it. Here goes. Last year, the value of total thefts in this country added up to about fifteen billion all together. That's counting everything like cars, jewelry, home robberies, bank thefts- everything. You obviously live a somewhat privileged life. Do you doubt that number?"

Reluctantly, Sigil shook his head. He'd only taken basic statistical and economic classes, but it made sense that the number would be that colossally high. There was a lot of property after all, so a lot of it ended up getting stolen. "So you're saying that what you stole isn't that bad because you only stole one purse? Or just the cash in that purse, if I believe you. Which I don't."

"No, I'm not saying that at all. Your argument was that stealing is wrong, no matter who's being robbed. Now let me finish. Fifteen billion sounds like a lot, doesn't it? Guess how much money was taken in wage theft last year, across the whole country."

Sigil grunted. "Wage theft? What does that even mean?"

"It can mean a lot of things. Paying under the minimum wage, not paying overtime, not paying for meal breaks, not paying interns, misclassifying employees as exempt from overtime, underpaying undocumented workers because that has to be done under the table. Paying people in jail a tiny fraction of the minimum wage, etcetera etcetera. The list goes on." He shrugged. "Now. Guess how much money was taken in wage theft last year. Again, this is publicly available information, fact-checked again and again."

Sigil didn't answer immediately. He tried to think back to his economics classes, but he doubted it could be that big of a number. The minimum wage laws were some of the most heavily enforced and scrutinized, after all. Jeremy was obviously sitting on some huge number, but he'd said openly that this was publicly available information. "About the same? Fifteen billion, I'm guessing?"

"It's over fifty, actually. Now, according to the same sources, the first kind of theft has a recovery rate of about thirty percent on average. If you were robbed, you'd have about a one in three chance of getting your stuff back. Cars have a better recovery rate at about sixty percent, but they're the exception. Now, guess how much of that fifty billion annual wage theft money is eventually returned to the victims?"

Sigil shook his head. "I'm not going to guess this time. Just tell me."

"Less than two percent! Employers in this country are stealing more than three times what individuals are, and returning under one fiftieth of what they take! And even then, they're only returning it because they're being forced to! Now, you might call the theft that I do 'regular' or 'normal', but I'd say that if another kind of theft is more than three times as popular, that makes it the new normal. Wouldn't you?"

This was too preposterous for Sigil to accept. "You're lying. Numbers that big would have gotten out. People would know about it by now."

"People do know about it!" Jeremy insisted. "The word has gotten out! You just refused to hear it, that's all!"

Enough was enough. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe a word of this, so I'm not going to. You're just a criminal after all. You have every reason to lie about all of this."

Jeremy snorted. "I already tricked you into thinking I had a daughter. If I'd wanted to lie my way out of this situation, I probably could have by now. I'm telling you the truth." After a moment, he shook his head and sighed. "But you don't really want the truth, do you? You've had this whole image in your head, haven't you? You, the Sigil. The beacon of light and hope to the whole city, maybe the whole world! A storybook hero, complete with superpowers, guaranteed to inspire kids for generations to come! The only problem is, none of what you do will actually help people. Busting individuals like me might make for good press, but it won't make the world any better. And you've known that all along, haven't you? Somewhere, deep down in your heart of hearts, you must have had an inkling of that."

"Shut up," Sigil said fiercely. "Just shut up. You don't know what you're talking about!"

There was a brief silence, and then Jeremy bowed his head. "All right. Let's play this out, then. You turn me in to the police, and I go to jail. Tomorrow night, and the night after, and the night after that, you continue to patrol the city. You get smarter about sticky situations like spousal or child abuse, but when it comes to larceny, you grab us up off the streets like we're nothing. You have superpowers, after all. It'll be easy for you, right?

"Rapidly, you make a name for yourself. People love the unusual, after all. And if that unusual happens to be a mysterious vigilante, who is helpfully both white and male as well, the media will just eat that up. You'll have groupies and fans out all over the city, cheering you on. You'll even have some cops on your side. A few will say you're making a mockery of their jobs by being a vigilante, and try to take you down, but you can avoid them, no problem."

Now it was Jeremy's turn to spear Sigil with a harsh look. "How long will it be though, before some of your groupies start getting into dangerous situations, just to meet you in person? How long will it be before powerful politicians here start courting you for your endorsement? How long before companies start slapping your image on their products, with or even without your consent? I tell you, man, in a year, you'll be nothing more than a walking sports advertisement!!"

"No! I won't let any of that happen. I'll be even better- even faster. I won't call myself the Sigil, or even tell anyone about me. I'll be in and out before anyone can notice. If there is a vigilante that people remember, they won't have a name for me, or even a good description. That way there won't be symbol for people to misuse!"

Jeremy gave a soft laugh. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

Sigil let out a ragged breath, intending to defend himself further, but Jeremy went on implacably. "The moment you become popular, the rich and powerful will start to use you. And you will become popular, no matter how many precautions you take to stop it from happening. They will use you until you stop publicly agreeing with them, and then they'll keep using you afterwards! If you really want to help people; if you really are the hero you've built up in your head, then this is not the way to do it."

"I can't believe I'm even listening to this," Sigil said angrily again. "I have no reason to trust you. You're just-"

"Filth?" Jeremy cut him off rapidly. "Criminal scum? A bottom feeder, like you said? Sure, think that of me if you want. Hell, you can pummel me if it makes you feel any better. There's nothing I can do to stop you. But none of that makes me wrong. None of it makes my arguments, or my statistics, unworthy of consideration. You're a good man, deep down- that's... why you tried to stop that abuse last night. But just like last night, you're not going to help the situation. If you try to, you'll just end up making things worse."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" Siegfried demanded. "I've dreamed about this since I was a little kid! All I wanted was to be a superhero! If I don't have that, I don't have anything!!"

"That's just it, man," Jeremy said softly. "You are a superhero. There are only two requirements: a desire to help people, and a willingness to risk your own safety and happiness to do it. You've already met both. If you're looking for a better way, I can give you some pointers. But the basics? The motivation and determination to carry it out? You've got those in spades. That's what TV and movies and comic books get wrong about superhero stories. There isn't just one hero, or even a small group. There are heroes all over the world, fighting in a thousand different ways to make things better. Also, the real villains are much more mundane than some mustache-twirling psychopath. And the real threats are much more institutional. Corporations, and through their money, government and law enforcement."

Feeling utterly drained, Siegfried slid down next to Jeremy, his back to the vent. "The cops aren't coming, are they?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Let me guess: you specified you had a white purse-snatcher up here. If you'd said a black man or Hispanic, they might have sent someone, but for something this trivial? Nah. Hell, I could go down there and deck some cop, and all I'd get is locked up. If a black man did it, he'd probably get shot a whole bunch of times."

Siegfried couldn't argue with that. One thing that he and Jeremy could agree on was how the cops mistreated black people.

Jeremy glanced over to his left. "So, if you're not going to be the Sigil after all, then what do I call you?"

"Siegfried," he extended a hand, and Jeremy shook it.

"I figured it was something like that. Either that or Sigmund, or maybe Simon." Roughly, he pushed himself up to his feet, and then extended a hand of his own. "Come on, let's get to the police station."

The younger man gave him a surprised look as he was helped up. "You're turning yourself in?"

Jeremy shrugged. "If they won't come to me, I guess I should go to them."

Feeling utterly mystified, Siegfried stripped off his body armor and stowed it in his pack. He kept his mask until just before they left the alley, and then stowed that as well. If he was going to turn in a criminal, he should probably do it as an ordinary guy and not a vigilante.

As they walked, Jeremy gave him some advice, as promised, on how to help people without being made into a branded symbol. He correctly guessed that Siegfried came from a wealthy family, and suggested anonymous donations to various shelters for local help, or to support politicians who wanted to strengthen the social safety net, instead of tear it up. That second one was accompanied by a warning about making sure the politician had a history of helping. Siegfried could definitely agree with that; the idea of politicians lying was about as novel as water being wet.

Jeremy even spoke briefly about mutual aid organizations, and how they'd been attacked. When Siegfried asked why, Jeremy had merely shaken his head. "You've come a long way since yesterday," he'd explained. "I don't want to push you too far, or too fast. If you're curious later on, look up mutual aid, cooperative ownership, and community self-policing movements." He pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from somewhere in his filthy clothing. "Here, let me write them down, because they're actually important. Donations to shelters are good, but these are the things that really take back the power from corporations and governments, and return it to the people."

Siegfried took the note respectfully, despite how dirty it was, and they got moving again. It was a difficult walk, though. Jeremy's pace was labored, unlike that first sprint away from the purse owner. He admitted, under close questioning, that he had a bad heart. He got winded easily, despite being in relatively good shape, and was fatigued most of the time. It would also be winter before long, and cold weather only added to his troubles. Before he knew what he was doing, Siegfried was offering to have him checked out by the family doctor, after he'd served his time for theft.

Jeremy only smiled. "I'll be waiting a while. Larceny has a 10-year sentence, and this isn't exactly my first offense. Besides, I've been thinking about just going in there and committing an obvious crime for a while now. At least in jail, I'll get healthcare. That's better than what I have out here."

Siegfried didn't know quite what to say. "You've been homeless for a while, I take it?" He nodded. "What did you do before that? Were you some kind of economics teacher? Or political activist?"

"Far from it," Jeremy said sadly. "I was a cop."

Siegfried stared at him, and then over at the police precinct.

"That's right," he confirmed. "I know most of the people in there by name. I used to investigate property crime. That's... how I know who to steal from."

"Then they'll probably let you off, won't they? Cops protect their own."

"Sometimes they do. I won't let them this time, though; I'll just smack one of them really hard. I can think of a few of my old co-workers who have it coming, and who won't hesitate to press charges." He stepped back, getting a better look at Siegfried now than before. "Yeah, that's better than the mask and costume. You can do a lot more as Siegfried than you could as Sigil. Either way, it was good meeting you."

"Even counting how it ends?" Siegfried asked.

"Even then." Picking up the stolen purse, he walked resolutely into the precinct.

Siegfried watched the ensuing altercation from the outside, wondering what to think, and do next. Part of him wanted to be back up on those rooftops right now, ensuring the safety of the city with a firm hand and inspiring actions, but he knew that wasn't possible now. Not after what his recently jailed associate had told him.

Jeremy had judged him correctly. He really did want to help, and his ego was expendable if it meant he could be effective at it. He didn't have to be a Sigil to make a difference. Or not the caped kind, anyway.
« Last Edit: October 03, 2022, 01:09:37 AM by Daen »