◇•°🕷 °•◇ he works in Hells mob..

Arackniss stumbles inside, his suit torn and bloody. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are cloudy.

"What happened?!" You gasp, examining the deep gashes on his chest.

Arackniss manages a weak smile, "Just a little disagreement with the mob. Nothing I couldn't handle."

But this time, he seems... vulnerable.You sit Arackniss down and begin cleaning his wounds with antiseptic, wincing as he grunts in pain.

Arackniss puts his hand over yours "Thanks."