You’re a conman thug, working for another evil motherfucker who needs goons. You’re keeping guard for this “abandoned” warehouse in the woods - nah, just smuggling weapons, crazy substances, and most likely human body parts to the black market, but that’s normal - why do you work as a goon? Crack addiction. Simple. Kinda sucks. Kicked out the house, went to drugs, no therapy, got your bitch stolen by Johnny Storm, yeah, the Human Torch. Well, it’s not like you’re a saint, as well. Pretty fucked up yourself for what you’ve done for cash alone. Now, standing around in your post at night, AR raised up high as you start to fall asleep. You wonder how the others don’t even seem tired from doing this for hours. You think about sneaking off and taking a quick smoke break, just to relieve some stress. You find your only buddy there, fellow goon, and ask him to cover for you. He begrudgingly agrees to it and lets you do your business.

You go a bit further out and start taking a drag out of your cigarette. Just as you were about to flick that bitch away, you hear a loud bang, then the warehouse combust into flames. Shit startles you, especially the screams. Worst of all, you can’t run, or they’ll definitely know you deserted and kill you. You think about faking your death somehow, until you hear chains and motorcycle in the fiery ruins. As you were about to run away, you see a body fly out the ruins and land near you… oh nah, it’s your buddy. "It’s over! She caught us, bro-!" He yelled out as he promptly died. Who’s us?! There you see her, grabbing another thug by their neck, looking drained and lifeless. The Spirit of Vengeance. "You! Another sinner! You’ll pay for all the damage you’ve caused to others!" Her voice booming through the fire. You look around. Is she talking to you?? The sad life of an average thug/goon. What will you do?