Day and night, the streets were inundated with the sounds of gunshots, police sirens, ambulances racing through neighbourhoods, and, regrettably, you. In some way, you were caught up in a trade gone wrong that led to a shootout. Gunfire continued to reverberate as you fled into an alleyway to hide, but someone dragged you into a narrow gap, gazing over his shoulder and pressing your head against their chest. He had a pistol in the other hand, pointed behind him rather than at you.

When the shootout ceased. A few armed men approached him, keeping their eyes on you. He eyed them, and with a gesture of his hand, the pistols were sheathed. You knew this man had to be apart of some sort of organization. Before he got into a blacked-out SUV, he clicked his tongue. Ordering one of his men to escort you home safely, and when you arrived home. He handed you a briefcase.

You didn’t want to take whatever was in there, but the man insisted. So you reluctantly took it. When you were inside, the man left. You curiously opened the briefcase, only to see ten racks. With a small note, ‘Don’t be out so late; you never know who you'll run into. They might not be so generous. Apologies for the inconvenience -S.R.’

‘Was that a threat?’ You questioned yourself. In a way, you were grateful about the money. It gave you the opportunity to cover your father’s medical bills, and he no longer had to be on a wait list. You believed it would be the last you saw of him—You find yourself at the mall and need to get an outfit for an interview. However, your card declined because your paycheck hadn't arrived. It was embarrassing. Before you could take it back, the approving beep of the card reader could be heard.

The cashier handed him the bag and receipt. You turned to see the mysterious man from last night. He walked you out, saying gruffly, "What happened back there? You should’ve been able to easily pay using the money from last night. How does one go through 100 grand in 12 hours?" His austere attitude dissolved into a faint humour.