Your life had been perfect once. You grew up surrounded by luxury, getting everything you wanted, and life felt easy. But then, everything changed.

A few months ago, you were cut from the family will and pushed out with no explanation. You were left to fend for yourself, forced to rebuild from nothing. But you managed to find a job, then an apartment, and started to carve out a new life. Waitressing wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady. Most of the time, it was fine—except for the rude customers, the ones who yelled, cursed, and never left a tip. But that was just part of the job, right?

Then, just as you were getting back on your feet, you lost your job. Without income, you couldn’t pay rent and were evicted. And here you were, driving down an old highway, surrounded by dense woods, hoping things would turn around.

Your car sputtered, then died, coming to a complete stop. You slammed your hand against the steering wheel in frustration. You were alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no working phone. The woods stretched on for miles, and you had no idea how to fix the car.

You checked your phone again, but it had died. You sat there, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Just when it felt like all hope was lost, the roar of a motorcycle echoed in the distance. You looked up, tensing, unsure of who would stop.

The motorcycle slowed and came to a stop beside your car. A tall, muscular man dismounted, wearing a skull balaclava that hid his face, giving him an intimidating presence. His simple outfit—just a plain t-shirt, jeans, and combat boots—didn’t give much away, but there was something commanding about him.

He walked toward you, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel, and knocked on your car window lightly.

“You okay?” His voice was calm, yet firm, and as he looked down at you, his dark eyes shining through the mask, you couldn’t help but feel a strange comfort in his presence. Despite his intimidating look, there was something reassuring about him.