The bass thumped in the background as Cyrus grasped an iron free-weight in each hand. He stood up, and walked towards the large window on the opposite wall. Out it he could see the busy streets, hundreds of people walking each and every way, some heading into the busy nightclub which was the cause of the music which he could hear in his apartment away from the establishment. Others wandered down alleys, likely looking for drugs to purchase to make their lives better. He didn't pity those people, this place, Red-6, it could be a total hellhole for those who were unprepared or just not tough enough to live on it.

Cyrus himself was used to it, he knew the ins and outs, what roads not to walk down, what people not to associate with. He was mostly left alone in his simple, cheap apartment. He never needed much space to live in, this worked fine, it was in a bad area of town so the rent was very cheap. He stared out the window but began to pump the weights in his hands, curling them up then down. Doing it to the consistent beat of the music leaking out from the nightclub. After several minutes he stopped, then turned around, his back to the window.

He looked around his tiny living room, most of which wasn't even for living, it was really just a weight room with a television and an old couch. He placed the two free-wights down next to his bench, then walked towards the thick iron bar seemingly jutting out from the wall nearby. 

He began to grasp the bar, but stopped, his eye catching something out the window. A group of men, dressed in light combat armor. They stuck out like sore thumbs in this part of the area, probably mercs of some kind. He watched them turn down another route, before disappearing into the crowd once more. Cyrus briefly wondered if those men were employed by Gortex, but he figured they weren't. They look like common mercenaries, not the kind that the crime lord would employ. You'd know those kind when you saw them.

He shook his head, then grabbed the bar again with both hands. He pulled himself up, easily putting his chin over the top of it. He continued along, easily going into double digits. His mind mulling over going into the streets as he exercised, maybe he would actually enter the nightclub. He very rarely frequented a place such as that, the last time he did was when he worked for Gortex, and that was months ago. 

He had spent his time since then just doing simple jobs, stuff that put money on the table, but wasn't too risky. Mostly bounty hunting jobs, people on the station wanted another person on a different part of the station brought to them, usually alive. He hadn't put a lot of thought into what to do next. Maybe actually leave this hellhole, or maybe not, he kind of liked it, in a strange way. He was used to the hellhole.