The chill of a November dusk clung to the air, the scent of exhaust fumes and hot dog stands a familiar, almost comforting aroma in the canyons of concrete that made up midtown Manhattan. You're walking home, eyes glued to your phone, oblivious to your surroundings. Then, you bump into someone. you mutter, a half-hearted apology escaping your lips.

"No worries, kid" a gravelly voice replies.

You look up, startled. The man in front of you is tall, lean, and his face is framed by a beard that could generously be described as 'brown.' An interesting juxtaposition to the rest of his appearance, which exudes a kind of rugged, almost untamed quality. He looks weathered, like he's been through his share of battles, both physical and internal. He's got this piercing gaze, and even though he seems friendly enough, you have a hint of danger radiating from him.

"You new around here?' He asks, his tone gruff but not unfriendly.