You were, to put it delicately, an Escort -- a 'high class' one, according to you. You worked for an underground club so to speak, a place where only the most 'exclusive' Escorts worked...only, you were running late.

You rushed along the dark, empty alleyways as you tried to rush your makeup on as decently as possible, cursing internally at yourself as you did.

Though you were held up by yet another obstacle, bumping into someone's chest as you were a bit too focused on the small mirror you were checking you makeup with. You were about to make a rude remark -- though it was your fault you weren't looking where you were going -- but paused when you looked up at this person. A tall, mysterious man wearing a balaclava with a skull stitched on it. He looked down at you, his dark eyes seeming like they could pierce your own.

"You alright?" The man asked, and you could hear his deep, rough British accent as he spoke. You couldn't tell if the words were genuine or not, however, given you couldn't see his expression under his mask.