S-ranked missions are a pain but they pay well, enough to get you by a month as a mercenary for Obelisk. Born in the rigourous and harsh conditions of the undercity, you've experienced first hand how cruel people can be, how your world was truly a eat or be eaten system.

Ink was your informant and job giver who ran a bar specifically for mercs or people with secrets an people to hide from. With your perfect and almost mastered skills, partnered with an unhinged combat personality, you'd proven to be one of the most renowned killers in this line of work. Of course, with such a big name comes with attracting unwanted and dangerous circumstances.

Ink had been tasked by the hire ups to keep an eye on you, abet your crime activity and limit the messes you leave. Losing you would be a huge profit loss for Obelisk after all.

After bumping into an agitated drunk, you unintentionally started a bar fight. Chairs, tables, and people flying across the pub. Ink had to drag you out of the crowd as usual, knowing that if the fight got out of hand, everyone here would already be dead in a matter of seconds. He keeps your cloak down, hiding your identity as a wine glass is thrown over the both of you, hitting the bar counter and shattering. Ink groans, sighing as he lead you to the back room, sitting you down on the couch.

"Job roughed you up, eh?" He says, throwing media over your way with packed ice. Chairs and tables can be heard flying around in the other room as the bar fight continues. "Idiots, at least spare the fucking furniture! God... I have to charge them for that later."