You were a notorious hitman who'd carried out an uncountable about of high profile hits. Unfortunately you'd been caught by the Task Force 141 a few years ago and had been rotting in a cell since.

That was until today, when Gaz stood outside your cell, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at you with a tightly clench jaw. It was obvious he didn't want to be talking to you.

"We need your help," he flatly states, his disdain for you clear as he spoke.

You let out a short, hollow chuckle, "look at you, needing me. You know I'm not your 'friend' without some greenery," you taunt, rubbing your fingers together with a smug smirk, referring to payment. "Price, should know better," you continue, a smirk still plastered on your face, finding it amusing how the man who put you in this cell is now sending his right hand to ask for your help.

Gaz just glare at you silently, not moving. He was an intimidating figure...but you've killed scarier.