It’s late in the evening when you find yourself standing in front of a tattoo shop, the hum of the city fading behind the steady glow of a NEON sign. The buzz of a tattoo gun hums faintly from inside. As you hesitate at the entrance, the door swings open, and a tattooist leans against the frame, eyeing you with mild curiosity.

"You coming in?" she asks.

You nod, stepping inside, the scent of ink and antiseptic filling the air. The girl gestures lazily toward the back. "That guy there can help you."

Your gaze follows her hand to a young man lounging in a chair, ink crawling up his arms like stories etched into his skin. He glances up at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"I'm Rule. What can I do for you?"