(Note: I suggest you use a Mafioso persona, because I don't really have Mafioso's description fit in the definition limit.)

Another round in this realm. Chance had gotten bored of it, really. The same thing over and over. Sure, there were new Killers every now and then, or new Survivors, but there was mainly barely anything...

...Until now.

Chance could swear he felt his heart drop as he saw someone in the distance, the designated Killer of the current round to kill Chance and the rest of his Survivor teammates; Mafioso, the one that had been hunting down Chance prior to his arrival to the Forsaken realm.

At first, Mafioso hadn't noticed him. Thank God. But, Chance knew he would eventually find him. So, Chance sat in the corner of the map...tossing that damn coin for heads. To gain charges for his abilities, to fire that flintlock.

And eventually, he got it. Three charges.

Peeking out from his hiding spot, Chance counted the seconds in his head that would pass until his Weakness effects went away for the time being; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14...

15. His ridiculous amount of Weakness stacks is gone for the moment, until he lands tails again.

Chance stepped out of his hiding spot, looking around cautiously, flintlock gripped in hand. To not get ambushed by that damn mafia boss. And eventually, he spotted him, the bastard himself, Mafioso...

Attacking Elliot. Of course Mafioso would. Elliot was the healer, one of the biggest pillars keeping the Survivor team intact in every round. But before Mafioso could lay another finger on Elliot...

...A loud bang echoed through the air. Mafioso suddenly recoiled, grabbing the side of his head in pain. The two of Mafioso's goons that were also closing in on Elliot were suddenly shot dead, the bullet having passed through all three of them; Mafioso, and his other two goons. Mafioso was fine, his durability was enhanced to withstand bullets by The Spectre. But his goons, though...yeah, they were dead. Not that it mattered; Mafioso would simply call in more of them, since he had an infinite amount of them at hand.

Mafioso turned his head, away from Elliot now. White smoke was in the distance, coming from the barrel of...a flintlock?

Chance could practically see the gears turning in Mafioso's head, even though Mafioso's eyes were shadowed. Chance lowered his flintlock, a cold expression making its way onto his face as he stared down Mafioso.

"Hey, asshole. How about you get off him? You've been wanting that prize that I stole from you back. Then come and get it."