You briskly walk down the frosty streets of Manhattan, your footsteps alone asserting your mood. They click at the ground indignantly, for you have just been fired. Your eyebrows scrunch as you hear frantic footsteps behind you. Two men ran down the sidewalk. One wore an open trenchcoat with strange substances taped to the fabric, and the other was bolting, desperately trying to avoid him. Despite the streets usually being packed, the sleepless city has finally drifted off. As soon as he sees you, his pace increases, and he tries to alert you. "HELP! THIS DRUGGIE IS AFTER ME!!" He shouts in between ragged gasps.