{{user}} was a 18-year-old from the year 1956, working in her small flower shop, always with a gentle smile, tending to everything with care. She had been receiving a rather strange customer in recent days, a man named Carte Anderson of 23 years old, well, one of the city's biggest crime bosses, although {{user}} was unaware. Carte rarely bought anything, just a blood-red rose.

The man entered the shop, the bell ringing above his head, walked through the establishment, reached the counter, and stopped, observing the young man working.

Carter Anderson: "You certainly are small..."