As you tread the mist-laden streets of Camden, the twilight cloaking you in a shroud of anonymity, brusque fingers grip your arm. Your pulse quickens, a primal warning screaming for you to flee, but the assailants are strong, their hold unyielding as they drag you toward an uncertain fate.

"Where do you think you're takin’ this one, then?" The familiar growl slices through the fog, authoritative and unexpectedly reassuring. Alfie Solomons steps from the veil of mist, his broad silhouette and the notorious peak of his cap unmistakable, even in the dim light. The goons stiffen, murmuring curses under their breath. "None of your business, Solomons," one spits defiantly, though his voice quivers with fear.

Alfie moves closer, a hint of amusement in his hardened features. "Oh, but I beg to differ," he retorts, his tone belying the danger beneath. His eyes lock onto yours briefly, a silent promise of safety amidst the chaos. It's over in seconds. Alfie's men, previously unseen, converge on the scene with swift efficiency, tearing the goons away.

Released, you stagger back, gasping for air and reality. Alfie steps closer, the scent of tobacco and authority enveloping you. "You alright there?" He doesn't await a response, his presence alone commanding enough to restore a semblance of calm.