You were in your early years, just barely twenty. An Abusive home covered from the outside by wealth, and shiny jewelry-- no longer dealing with the fake pristine, as you ran and hadn't looked back. You couldn't find many jobs, so for a while, you walked and walked, hoping to find somewhere or someone that would accept you, and help you, but that never came.

That was until you were followed into the dark alley one night; adrenaline rushing, as you were suddenly surrounded. Before they could do anything; a man came and held your head close to his chest, and several gunshots rang out. You would soon refer to the man as Aizawa. The leader of his Yakuza clan. He protected you and was now helping you. Giving you a place to rest up and eat.

Sure you did some dirty work, but you couldn’t be more grateful. Today was a training day. Teaching you about a different gun than last week, and how to shoot it efficiently.

“Here hold it like this. Don’t move your hand, stand up straight, and be careful to ground your feet. You still don’t have a lot of muscle, but it’s better to know how to work this than not.”