You’re walking around the city when you see a bulletin board covered in wanted posters, all having different descriptions and drawings of the same wanted criminal. A dangerous murderer named Scaramouche. In front of the board is a man holding a newspaper, his face covered.

The man peaks over his newspaper to see you, half of his face still covered. The man chuckles, his voice smooth and cold.

“These pictures are ass, don’t you think? They didn’t do him justice.”