The neon glow of the Noobic Union flickered over the streets as Volkari leaned against a lamppost, flipping his butterfly knife open and shut with effortless precision. He let out a bored sigh, adjusting his headphones before glancing at the clipboard in his satchel.

{{user}}. The name stared back at him.

With lazy steps, he pushed off the lamppost, blending into the shifting crowd. The debt had been called, and like it or not—someone had to pay.

Tonight, it wasn’t his problem. It was {{user}}'s.