People are always making such a huge deal about direction. A misstep here, a bad decision there, one action can have a huge variety of consequences, or so they say.

Just how true is that? I don't know, but I can't say I really subscribe to that train of thought. One decision, no matter how well thought out isn't going to make much of a difference in the grand sceme of things.

The way I see it, everything we do is because of a huge string of decisions we've probably made years ago. You don't just make a decision to shoot some guy, you don't just make a decision to pick up the gun, you don't just make the decision to take the long way home because you though it was a nice day out and you're a fucking idiot, and it goes on and on and on.

Maybe people who can remember where that string ends see it differently, maybe they can actually point out that one decision that led to all of the others. All I remember is the sea, a wad of cash that held me over long enough to get a crummy apartment in the seediest part of Bluhaven, and a soft voice 'You remain unavenged' like some creepy reverse Hamlet shit.

So no, I don't think too hard about it when I pluck the gun from the mouth of the narrow alley and empty the clip into the crowd of guys surrounding a still figure. All but two are crying out in puddles of their own blood, those two are high as the Eiffel Tower, so when I move closer they move as fast as their scrawny asses can take them in the other direction.

I don't worry too much when I lift the guy up a little and flip him over, not all of that blood can be his, but he does have a pretty nasty bump on his head. What does worry me is the crackle of the radio hooked on the guy's front pocket.

"Crap." I hiss, when I catch sight of the sticky, blood coated badge pinned to his chest.

There are three rules in Bludhaven, don't mess with the gangs, don't mess with the costumes freaks, and don't mess with the firiggin cops.

I drop him like he's on fire, ready to scramble back, but the cop groans and his arm shoots out, one hand wrapping tightly round my throat.

"Crap!" I repeat, instinctively I duck, hooking my arm under his and twisting while I try throwing him off me.

His eyes open, and I panic, but still can't pull away.

"Who'r you?" He slurs, taking in the downed men in he ground, and crap I'm still holding the gun.

The weapon clatters way more loudly than it should when I drop it. The cop turns his furious blue eyes to me, the intensity in that look is so strong I pull back.

"Yeah, I just saved your ass, so maybe cut me a break, huh?" I raise my hands and step back.

Something flashes behind his eyes, but his radio crackles and he's back to normal.

"Stay right there."He orders and reaches for the device.

Yeah, like hell I'm doing that. The second his hands are off me I bolt.

He curses and I pick up my pace, hearing his harried footsteps coming after me. Too bad for him, he's just been beaten bloody and I was taking a slow walk home. Still, it takes longer than I thought it would for me to outpace him. He has to lean against a grimy wall and I duck around a corner.

There are some curious looks from passersby but nobody will be stopping to help, people around here know not to get involved, and this is quite possibly the first time I'm glad for that.

"Jason!" He calls hoarsly.

I'm two blocks away before I let myself worry about how the cop knows my name.

((Linebreak))

A few weeks later and I'm definitely regretting the string of decisions that led to me helping that cop. Remember those three rules I mentioned before? Well, turns out I managed to break two of them in one go, and I'm well on my way to breaking another.

Those guys I dropped were all part of a local gang, a very powerfull local gang that's really trying to get in Blockbuster's good books. Having eight of your guys taken out by a cop and some nobody? Yeah that's gonna get you taken down a few pegs, and the best way to pull yourself back up is making an example of the ones who tripped you up and climbing over their bleeding bodies.

I was just refrying some leftovers when they knocked at my door.

Now I like to think I myself as a smart guy - I know, I know my choices lately beg to differ, but I said smart, not fucking omniscient - and I know I don't know anyone, so I pause what I'm doing and look at the door for a second, trying to puzzle out the decision with the least chance of little Jason peices being fished from the bay tomorrow morning.

"We know you're in there, open now and things'll be a lot less painful for you kid."

When people in Bludhaven say things like that, it's a pretty good indication that you're fucked whether or not you listen to them.

I have my ass out of my window seconds before my door is kicked in and the assholes get splashed in the face with with pan of oil I'd left in the doorframe for them. Aren't I just a sweetheart?

Their screams drown out the loud bang my feet make against the nearly empty dumpster below and I take of running.

I'm not angry, maybe a little annoyed that I'll have to find new apartment, but not angry. It's my whole fault for getting involved and I won't be making that fucking mistake again.

Psh, yeah that's what I'd told myself when I fished that junky out of the trash in Star City too, next thing I knew, I was in a run down hospital getting an arrow surgically removed from my left ass cheek.

No, my sanity's too tenuous to recount the exact series of events that lead to that 'fun' little memory.

I know I'm not in the clear, so it doesn't surprise me when a group of men jump me in the next alley I pass though.

Big, burley, probably paid for those steroids with what was left of their brains, you know the type.

I have my knuckles smashing through a row of pearly whites before the first guy even has a good grip on the back of my jacket.

Yeah, I'm good, and since the bastards started with 'me' this time I'm not shy about showing it either. Cheap rent or not, I'm done with this neighbourhood anyway.

I'm in the process of banging some guys head into a wall when I hear a click and realise yet another stupid mistake I'd just made.

BANG BANG BANG

I don't get the chance to correct it. The last thing I see before the sticky red grows on my favorite leather jacket and my vision clouds over is a dark figure with a bright blue emblem across it's chest looming over me.

Damnit there goes rule number three.