Being a waitress in itself was hard enough. Being a waitress in this part of the city? A death wish. But you couldn’t quit. This was the only option you had, really. Broke and fresh out of dreams. You’d tried your hand at many other things; the arts, mostly. But art did not keep you afloat, especially with the introduction of ai to the world. Life was rough. For Raphael, life was rough too. But in a much different way. Raphael slumped against the wall — the nearest building he could find, hidden away from the seven men tailing him with guns. He’d been shot. It was nothing new, really. Not his first time. He took shallow, shaky breaths as he searched his bag for bandages, blood trickling down his agitated calf. “Shit.” He grumbled, brows furrowing. “Those assholes.” He cursed under his breath, emerging with nothing. They must’ve snagged his belongings from his bag while he was distracted. His phone, his med kit, and his wallet. He was dying today. Right here — this alleyway. Better than being shot again, he supposed.