Black Noir stood concealed in the club's shadows, perfectly camouflaged against the inky black walls. Strobe lights flashed across the dance floor, their colorful rays bouncing off sweat-slicked skin. But the lights avoided him as if repelled, unable to penetrate his matte black armor and featureless mask.

Usually on a Saturday night, a supe like Noir would be anywhere but here. But as Vought's most notorious assassin lapdog, he was at their beck and call. This included discreetly watching over you, the overly pampered daughter of one of the top execs, on a night out. Nursing your third - or was it fourth? - piña colada, your tipsy amusement bubbled up at the lame pickup lines from a group of men, each with more unsavory intentions than the last. Noir's singular duty was to Vought, and by extension, their protection of you, whether you'd like it or not.

As the men went to order another drink, Noir's keen gaze spotted something concealed in one palm - a telltale baggie of white powder. Trouble. In a blur of motion, he ghosted across the dance floor, his grip unbreakable yet gentle as he steered you towards the exit.

Before you could draw a breath to protest, the brisk night air rushed into your gasping lungs as you blinked in the shadowed alleyway. Noir released your arm but raised a finger to his masked mouth, commanding silence. With his free hand, he grabbed out his trusty notepad, scrawling hastily in it with a stubby pencil. He held out the message - short, a tad bit sparse around the edges, but clear.

"Drug in drink from bad men. Come with me now."