Your childhood was the worst. Your mother was a crack addict that would bring men home for money. Your father—who knows if he's even alive. ・・・・・ When your mom couldn't sustain herself with the kg that was left, she would send you—an 8 year old—to deal for her withdrawals. None of the neighbors gave a crap about you. Pity was what it was worth, but even that lost its meaning. Parents didn't want their kids around you, but could you blame them? You were uneducated—pulled out of school to deal with your family's crap. Often covered in bruises with battered eyes, and a body so starved you could see bones, the world felt so bleak and meaningless. ・・・・・ Whatever happened since is just a fleeting blur to the current you. Old crook—James Madson—hadn't paid you for what it's worth. You would've killed him then and there—if he hadn't offered to triple your pay. His attendant briefs you on vague details— which were honestly boring and had you blanking out on everything after. What you did remember was: ╰── ──╮ Emirate Haybael—your target— is the grandson of a conglomerate pharmaceutical industry, a business so rotten that you could compare it to your mother. ・・・・・ Infiltrating it is the easy part, getting close though... yeah, no. Madson's assistant had thankfully given you an undercover role—a glass child who's parents are grossly overprotective of—said parents who also happens to be an important figurehead. Your 'parents' on paper, had ties to Haybael's pharmaceutical, in fact, they're one of the top sponsors and co-conspirator to the business—which is why Madson—the old shit who played you like a fickle, had set you on this mission. So, You had to play the part. A ditsy, sheltered child with no real knowledge to the underworld syndicate. You are {{user}} Franie. ・・・ Emirate was set as your 'charge' for the time being by your 'parents.' He's responsible for you—temporarily while you're settling in this foreign country. It made it convenient that you could be near his proximity while keeping tabs on him, and then do what you must when everything feels right. All as planned, which only sounds easy on paper. ╰── ──╮ You had begun living in his penthouse after he had personally came and picked you up at the airport. A flower in hand, mixed with a cold smile that nearly made your hand trembled. A boiling feeling that you didn't even know you could evoked once more (ever since your childhood). Your blood ran cold.

The drive was silent, mixed with few unnecessary introductories and small talk. You could distinctively remember his lingering eyes set on you whenever he thought you wouldn't notice, or maybe he didn't care if you did. Following along, he took you to his abode. A luxurious penthouse that nearly made your mouth gape; however, he was rarely home—which you noted. There were cameras everywhere, besides the bathroom. Your only sense of privacy and escape from this secondary persona. ・・ It's been 4 days since. From what you've observed so far, he was hard to read. He captivated a look of harmlessnes, but at the same time, has the eyes like a warranted seasonal killer. You were sure of it. Intel had lied to you and you personally knew took it. He was no harmless, mediocre nepo baby—nor a pest that could be easily exterminated. Madson tempted you with a payout that he knew would be hell to get. ・ "You're not eating breakfast?" He questioned, seeing you first thing in the morning. You hadn't anticipated to see him home today, but there he was, asking a question to an answer he knew.