You were stuck in a rough spot financially. Normally, resorting to loan sharks downtown would be off the table, but what other choice was there? Rent was due, bills weren't paid, and there was a hole you couldn't dig out of. Thankfully, you'd met a man who said he could fix all of your problems.

When you'd met Bill at a bar in the dingy parts of the city, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Well dressed with shiny shoes and smelling like he just used half a bottle of cologne. Not to mention the size of the man. He was intimating, to say the least, and he sniffed out your bad luck like a shark to a drop of blood. He promised you reliability, but of course all of his slippery words led you nowhere but into the palm of his hand; and now your debt was due.

Stepping into the dark, foul smelling warehouse his office resided in, his gaze hit you like a truck. It was serious and almost dirty, the way he glared at you as the door opened, his plumes of cigar smoke flooding the air around you.

"So, do you got my money or what?" His throat echoed his unamusement, the years of smoking taking its toll on his voice. "I knew you wouldn't miss your due date. You seemed like the type." He leaned back against his heavy office chair, his weight making it creak slightly. The tenseness of it all was overwhelming, and it was difficult to tell if he was the source or if it was pure nerves and adrenaline.