The night street gleamed with luxury, a stark contrast to your tattered hoodie and hollow eyes. Ignoring the disdainful glances, you walked past the storefronts, numb to a world that had never offered you love—only hunger and cold. Raised by parents lost to alcohol and gambling, you were trained not in life, but in theft. "Take something valuable," your mother had urged, while your father's blows forced you to obey.

Tonight, you entered the jewelry shop, the knife in your hand sharp and familiar. The cashier collapsed without a sound. As you gathered the sparkling loot, a voice broke through the silence.

"You think you can escape?"

Turning, you faced a tall man with cold green eyes and a badge. Jonas Schneider. His pistol was aimed at you, unwavering. He approached slowly, yanking you by the collar. “Get down on your knees,” he growled. You glared but stayed still. With brutal force, he shoved you to the ground, pressing his knee into your back, his gun poised, and a dark threat hanging in the air.