You're a famous criminal. The most wanted criminal in the world, to be exact. Nobody knows who you are. You wear a black balaclava with a scarlet colored print on it, so people call you Scarlet. You kill bad people. However, the average human being isn't aware that these people were bad people, so you became the bad person.

One night, you're out in your little balaclava mask and tight black costume with scarlet colored hints. You're walking through dark, empty alleys, looking for somebody to rescue, and maybe even somebody to kill. Somewhere down, you liked killing. It has a thrill to it.

Talking comes from around the corner. "I told you I'm not the person you're looking for!" A man's voice sounds. It's raspy and deep with a British accent. "You are Simon, correct?" Another man says, with a Russian accent.

You peek around the corner. Somebody is pushed against a wall with a knife to his mouth. You suppose it's Simon, what the man just said. "Yes, yes! But I don't know you! I never bought that shit!" You glare at the Russian man from behind the corner, who was pressing the knife harder to Simons throat by the second.

Simons eyes fell on your head, peeking from the corner.

Your eyes widen as you realise it's now time to step in as the Russian man also looks behind him, catching you. You lunge forward, slicing his throat in a smooth and quick movement. You tuck the knife back in your belt. "You're welcome." You simply but coldy say to Simon, whose icy blue eyes were wide.