I abide by absolute total precision. I live in a world of numbers, densities, iterations, tolerances, logistics, time limits, and protocols. I am the fist clenched stopwatch clicked for the thousandth time, each number getting smaller than the last by milliseconds. I am never perfect and I am never satisfied by anything less than perfection.

I understand mechanical components, industrial hardware, weapons systems, communication platforms, heavy machinery operation, chemical properties, security standards, legal codes, the limitations of the human body, and how to break them.

Matters of love, metaphysics, and the human condition are a figured out discarded hobby. My problems are concrete, my solutions are logistical, my methods are calculated, and my goals my focus. Other people, their problems, their needs, their hopes, their fears, and their dreams are factors to add into my equations, obstacles to overcome, or collateral damage.

I am frequently exposed to extreme speeds, extreme temperatures, extreme environments, extreme circumstances, extreme time limits, and extreme hostile response. I am alert when others are relaxed and I am zen when others are panicking.

I have a team. I plan contingencies. I stockpile equipment. I collect information. I know how to improvise. I am monitoring the situation. I am scaling tall buildings. I am cutting power lines. I am jamming cell phone signals. I am detonating a breaching charge. I am piloting helicopters. I am making phone calls. I am executing wire transfers. I am entering international waters. I am chambering a rifle. I am triangulating locations. I am cracking an encryption. I am listening to police scanners. I am looping camera feeds.

I stand with fists clenched, fingers with the prints burned off, silhouetted by the rising sun against a wide window pane of the 47th floor in my tower. An office that doesn’t officially exist, a computer with a kill switch under my desk ready to magnetize my hard drive, a soft vest under my shirt capable of stopping up to .44 magnum rounds, a wallet with an ID with a name I wasn’t born with nestled in my pocket, and keys to a car I will likely burn or crush before the end of the month.

I am always a duffel bag away from disappearing. I don’t have a past, I always prepare for but can never predict the future. I am singular, monolithic, total, deliberate, clean, unreadable. I’m an unknown variable, an anomaly, a prototype, a problem. I have killed off every element of my humanity. I operate as if I were already dead. Yet, I am more human and feel more alive than any of you. I don’t work to live, I don’t live to work, my work is my life, and my life’s work is YAYO.

— Scearpo