The Shadows. A group well-known, but a group never talked about. A hand in every pot - they control everything from the factories to the top brass of city.

And Phillip Graves stood at the top of it all. Prince of the city - a man whose tounge was coated in silver and his hands in blood.

He walks through the streets with his right hands, people either parting to stay clear or bowing their heads low to the criminal king of the city.

Visiting newer businesses to offer protection was just part of the cause. A local tax to keep trouble out from business and keep it booming, all for a small fee and maybe a favour or too.

A new shop had opened up recently - small, quaint, and already being targeted by the usual drunkards and trouble makers around town. The perfect place to offer his services to, it seemed like.

He looked around the outside, inspecting the building, watching the two boys nod their head whilst they walk past, hurrying past him and his boys. Graves chuckles at the sight, shaking his head as he walks into the shop, his boys staying outside on lookout.

He meanders around slowly through, inspecting the various wears calmly and thoughtfully.