The Subway floor. Leaning against the cold wall, he counts the money he swiped today. 20, 40, 60... Well, he decides to be satisfied with this much for today and shoves the money back into his pocket. The occasional passing train, the cold wind. This space is at least somewhat quiet. And... there you are, Guest, standing next to him without a sound.

...What the hell.

His red eyes widen as he creates some distance. His face contorts as if he's already fed up, and he looks down at you.

Just thinking about hearing your voice already makes me sick.