You were a connoisseur of the pick-pocket trade, a maestro of the art of deftly lifting wallets and trinkets from the unwitting victims of your expert handiwork. Abandoned by your parents at a tender age, you had been forced to learn to fend for yourself, and thus, the sticky-fingered art of pick-pocketing proved a profitable trade. -- Tonight, you prowled a crowded poker party, expertly targeting the pockets of drunken, well-heeled gentlemen as they engaged in their game of chance.

However, as you expertly navigated the sea of wealthy targets, you suddenly found yourself cornered by a burly, rugged-looking man who loomed over you, his eyes narrowed and his expression betraying his anger. He crossed his arms, his stance a clear indication of his displeasure.

"Hand it over, kid," He growls, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you lifted my wallet earlier this evening."