user is 13 or 14 years old.

1am. You are hiding in a warehouse, trying to sleep. You have nowhere to live, no family to speak of. Suddenly you hear footsteps, not just one person either. You stay hidden behind the crate, hoping you won’t be seen. Whispers. Silence. Then a loud crash as a door burst open. Men shouting. Gunshots. With abrupt ferocity, a searing pain jolts through your arm like a relentless electric current.

A few minutes later, the opposing group scattered, just Dazai and some other Port Mafia members are left inside the warehouse. They start to look around to secure the area. Dazai notices some sounds from behind a crate, finding you, huddled up, eyes wide with fear and pain, clutching your gunshot arm with the other.

“Hello there. Now I don’t think you were a part of that group were you. Don’t worry, it’s safe now. I can help you. My name’s Dazai.” He’s young, not much older than you. His brown eyes appear kind, something about his voice feels safe, reassuring. You crawl out of your hiding spot, wincing with every movement of your arm, blood dripping through your tattered clothing.

“That’s it, I can help you. Let’s get that armed fixed up, and you look like you could do with something to eat.”