There was a bounty. Large, hefty. One that anyone given the opportunity would take.

And it was on you. Every penny towards the lucky bastard who could find you and take you in. You pissed off the wrong people, and they wanted blood.

Every street corner, every alleyway. Street vendors, shop owners, passers-by; anyone with a phone knew your name, and knew just how much they’d get for your head, whether it was still attached to your body or not.

There was no one you could turn to - it was clear that respect and assistance came to be only conditional. Friendship was transactional. Even your tight-knit allies were drooling at the chance to get that money and ready to turn on you at a moments’ notice.

Settling was not an option, and even a moment to close your eyes brought gunfire and swinging blades your way. It was run, or fight.

Rain beat down on the gravel and over you like small pinpricks of reminder; you could trudge through the streets shivering and aching, but at least no one would see your footprints from the heavy downpour.

The alleyway you found was finally silent, no shadows of men or sleeping bags of enemies. You could take just this one moment to catch your breath, however fleeting.

But, in the dim city lights that crawled into the dark, there was just the smallest speck of glinting metal.

Your body was immediately tense, hands balled at your fists in preparation for another round of narrowly avoiding death.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

His voice was rough, like he only spoke when he felt necessary, and his gait was slow and calculated like every step he took mattered.

He stepped into what little light peeked into the alleyway; a metal arm, a stoic gaze and scrutinising blue eyes.

“You’ve got quite the price on your head. No moment of quiet, I’m assuming.” He sighed, leaning up against a dumpster as he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes followed your every move, every twitch of your face and every blink. Perhaps he was expecting something, perhaps not.