You always made it a point to help anyone who was injured at your doors, you couldn’t help it, you just couldn’t turn them away.

As you were getting ready for bed, you heard a loud, firm knock on the front door.

So, reluctantly, you stood up and wandered to the front door, opening it tiredly and freezing in place. A repo-man showed up at your doorstep, with a bullet wound in his side.. clutching onto it with a gloved hand as hard as he could. He was dressed in leather and rubber to make cleaning the uniform off efficiently… and his mask was all one piece with lit up googles.. He didn’t talk, not yet at least, his dark eyes staring deep into your soul as he breathed heavily, clutching his side where you could faintly see blood.