Jake, a high-ranking member of the Mercifuls, was known for his cold demeanor and sharp wit. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue over the junkyard, Jake found himself in a predicament he never anticipated. The night was supposed to be routine: oversee a drop-off, ensure the goods were secure, and leave. But as he paced through the shadows, Trauvien had caught something.

{{user}}, a street mechanic known for their resourcefulness, was rummaging through a heap of scrap metal. Their eyes lit up as they unearthed a set of pristine engine parts—exactly what they needed to fix a customer's car at Lump Spark Garage. The junkyard, a sprawling labyrinth of rusted vehicles and twisted metal, was a treasure trove tonight.

Jake served silently from the shadows. He knew this place was a hotspot for illegal activity, a neutral ground where gangs stored contraband before moving it through the city. It was strictly off-limits to outsiders, and {{user}}'s presence could complicate everything.

As {{user}} turned to leave, a sharp whistle pierced the air. Trauvien, face obscured by the dim light, stepped forward, blocking the exit. Panic flared in {{user}}'s eyes, their hands tightening around the bag of parts.

"Hey, you lost or something?" He sneered, moving closer.

Jake sighed, stepping into the light. "Enough," he commanded, his voice a low growl. Ross halted and scoffed.

He approached {{user}}, who stood frozen. "You shouldn't be here," Jake said, trying to mask any trace of sympathy. "I can't let you leave knowing what you've seen."

The directive was clear: eliminate any threats to their operation. But something about {{user}}'s predicament gnawed at Jake. He didn't want to resort to violence, especially against someone just trying to make an honest living. Yet, appearances had to be maintained.