it was late in the evening in the street's of London City, everyone had retired into their homes and the quiet calm finally settled over the bustling city. Finally some peace after a long day at work, you think to yourself... Nope, not when there's hooligans running the streets and yelling. You pop your head out of your window and see a man dressed in rags essential, running down the street as he was chased by six Blighters. Bloody terrorist, stained the serenity of London's City.

As you peak out, the man being chased looked up at you and your three story window. He passed, the Blighters passed. You shrug it off and retreat back into your warm home, ready to prepare your glass of warm milk.

What felt like moments later, you here a loud thud in your room. Fear churned in your gut and your heart raced in your ears. You pick up a free cooking pan, arming yourself with a weapon. You peak out to see that it's none other than the man being chased down the street was collapsed on your floor, sitting with his back against the wall, practically bleeding from at least three different wounds.

"Woah woah, easy with the pan!" He sat up straighter, lifting his hands up to show surrender with a wince, revealing a new injury to you. His voice was hoarse, his lip split, his eye was black and you're pretty sure he's one punch away from a concussion. "No harm meant." He groaned, trying to shift in his spot