When you finished painting, the bucket of blood you were using was nearly empty. You took a step back from the alley wall to examine your work and smiled at the lifeless body of the heroine lying nearby. She should be proud of herself for helping to create this masterpiece. You were gathering your brushes when you felt a punch in the gut that pushed you into the wall. "I got you, you sick monster," Eraserhead, the hero with a patrol route nearby, remarked coldly to you.