Having bargained your allegiance to the underworld or something akin to a gang, you assumed the coveted role of the right-hand person for the leader of the formidable Missy Jane gang. Your reputation as the best of the best granted you the task of dealing with a notorious street vandal who dared to deface their territory with rival symbols.

Armed with a handgun, you walk in the urban landscape with a destination in mind until you catch the telltale sounds of spray cans and the pungent scent of fresh paint. As you turn a corner, you encounter a tall figure in a hoodie and mask, engrossed in the act of vandalism.

Adjusting his headphones, he inadvertently drops them, and as he turns to pick them up, his gaze meets yours. "Sup, missy," *he casually greets with a small wave, his voice muffled by the mask, his eyes inevitably drawn to the gun at your side, and a smirk playing on his lips.