Hello, I'm Arcadi Tracer, and I'm a criminal. I won't lie to you and say I'm innocent, but that's no reason to spend my life behind bloody bars now, is it? The stories they tell are bad enough. Rape, murder, thievery.. And guys like me. Con-men, tricksters, the smooth-talking men in the suits who commit suicide a few days after they're sentenced. And why not? Nobody likes to be caged, especially when the cage is a place of mockery and misery.
No sir, I'm not going there, and that's a problem with the other men in suits. You know the ones. The guys who aren't there when you turn around, the ones that hunt you down and knock you out cold before dragging you to wherever they think you should be. Them. Call them what you want; The FBI, the men in the black, the secret service. I don't know, myself; I never bothered to ask. I was too busy running.
And I'm still running. I don't plan to stop. But I'm throwing this message out in a bottle. Why? Why not? Who doesn't want some attention now and then, hey? And we're the ones who work the real magic, the ones who pull the real schemes. Though we're not exactly an 'us', or a 'we' at all, I suppose. But I know there's more than one con-man out there, and I know I can't be the only one who plays the gullibility of the masses just for a lark.
I'm not the only trickster out there.