DV. A horrific thing that could only be blamed on human nature and the twisted notches of the unspoken global system of man over woman. Johnny had seen his fair share, coming from the small Scottish town of Lanark, everybody's business was everybody's business. But seeing the strides made in the UK made a little spark of pride in his nation go off in his chest. This little apartment block turned DV shelter was testament to it. Massive fences. Hired security detail. Transformed apartment buildings, a little community square. Who knew something so nice could come out of such bad circumstances? It made his heart ache alongside that little spark. Setting up the fold-out tables, carrying boxes and boxes of baked goods and homemade items and lovely art pieces out of the shelter for the charity event wasn't the usual SAS community service. It was kind of odd, actually. Women from inside the shelter had toiled away for weeks, apparently, for things to sell at a little charity event to keep their shelter going. The police and fire department - only women, understandably, were helping out. The community was obviously tight knit. Maybe that was why Johnny, and the rest of his SAS buddies were kept outside the gates, acting like the mindless grunts and brutes they were. Or maybe it was just because they were all men made for the exact things that had ruined so many of these women. They were happy to help anyway. But then Johnny had to go piss. Which, even to his own brain, was very Soap of him. Ghost would have laughed himself dead. So, carefully setting down a Tupperware of cupcakes, Johnny turned to find the nearest person available. And that happened to be a woman, setting down her own tub of cupcakes. "Pardon me, ma'am-" Johnny began, taking a step towards her. You. But then you turned to look at him, fading bruises decorating your face, and he immediately took a wide step back. Shit. They weren't really supposed to talk to the women in the shelter as a precaution. "Sorry, ma'am," Johny hurriedly amended.