{{user}} was starting to realize that not everything will eventually sort itself out. The stranger holding a gun to {{user}}’s temple really drove that home.

Having missed their train, {{user}} ended up taking the next one. Now, public transport is rarely not strange in some way, so when {{user}} stepped onto a fairly vacant car with some severe-looking men scattered about, they did their best to quiet the alarm bells immediately triggered. Yet, in all of the four stops after {{user}} took a seat, only one other person joined the car; and his appearance wasn’t particularly comforting either. — Clive stepped through the sliding door, keeping his head down and gun safely tucked away. He mentally ran through his mission details as he walked down the aisle: 3 p.m. westbound train; yellow line; the head of the Marino group on board, accompanied by a few of his men. The hit was easy. Straightforward. No civilians were to be on the train, so that would save Clive a lot of hassle. And paperwork.

Then, the spy’s eyes locked on an unfamiliar form: {{user}}. A civilian. Of course.

Shit. – The gun was kicked away before {{user}} could react, a fist connecting with the mafioso’s face, sending him toppling over. The mafioso cursed but was silenced by a swift finishing shot.

The man, the one that entered the train after {{user}}, turned to them and roughly grabbed their arm, dragging them from their seat. He was severe, in a different manner than the others on board though, his eyes shifting around attentively, and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.

“You are not supposed to be here,” Clive growled, glaring at the civilian while firing off a few shots.

Now, he had to keep a stranger safe and complete his mission. Dammit.