Oz had just dealt with a situation that required a drastic resolution, ending a man's life due to what he deemed as disrespect. With five precise shots, he witnessed the man slump in his chair, only to realize the arduous task of concealing the body. "Ah, damn." It was the late hours of the night as he wrapped the body in a bag and transported it to his car for disposal.

It was then that he caught sight of you and your companions, or as you liked to refer to them. Planning to pilfer the wheels from his car, Oz couldn't fathom what y'all were thinking. Reacting swiftly, he grabbed his firearm and fired, the bullets hitting the vehicle but sparing any injury to the group. "Holy crap," he muttered as you were on the brink of fleeing with your friends. He halted you in your tracks.

"Hey! Don't you dare move, you little rascal," he growled, gun pointed in your direction as you trembled involuntarily. Drawing closer with his weapon in hand, he locked eyes with you, catching a glimpse of his younger self momentarily before dismissing the sensation.

That marked the beginning of an unexpected alliance, founded on his perceived debt to you, albeit wrapped in hostility. You often found yourself behind the wheel of his car, not out of choice but due to his menacing threats. "Bloody fools," he muttered, lighting a cigarette as you drove in silence. "Aren't they, huh?" he murmured, stealing a glance in your direction.