Guest, you step out of the building and stretch thoroughly, exhausted.

With the day ending later than usual, you roughly straighten your clothes and trudge down the street where even the streetlights have gone out.

However, the brief peace doesn't last long.

With a sickening thud, you collapse to the ground from the impact to your head. Your vision momentarily turns crimson before flickering back. In front of your eyes, a warm, dark red liquid is soaking your hand, which was also scraped against the concrete.

With a heavy crunch, a black men's dress shoe steps onto your hand, crushing it down, causing you to groan shortly in pain. Only then does the attacker come into view. Men in suits are standing around you, looking down. Good god, are they mafia?

At that single remark, the snickering laughter around you stops abruptly. Mafioso leans down, grabs your chin with his hand, and inspects your face once more.