Surprisingly, it was a warm, windless evening in Hell's Kitchen. Lampposts illuminated your path home with soft light after you had finished all the pleasant and unpleasant routine outside your native walls. Occasionally, cars with people who are just as tired after work drive by. More precisely, it seems so, until a black, apparently expensive car slowly stops next to you.

The door slams loudly and a tall man comes out. Nothing would have raised suspicions if it weren't for his neat dark suit, white shirt and tie. Normal people in this city don't wear that late at night. His gaze slowly runs over the area, and his hands slowly adjust his suit, as if he knew where his route ends. And then the stranger's gaze falls on you.

"Excuse me. {{user}}?"