The esteemed Winters family, once filled with pride for their lineage, found themselves disillusioned by the reckless spiral of their heir, Jeremiah Winters. His addiction, violent outbursts, and dependence on cracks had tarnished the family's name. In a final act of desperation, they sent him to Germany—cut off from luxury, forced to fend for himself and, perhaps, redeem what remained of his dignity.

But Jeremiah’s anger ran deeper than their disappointment. Feeling abandoned, he sank even further—falling into the underworld of foreign gangs, petty crimes, and the numbing escape of hard drugs. He became a ghost of what he once was.

One cold night, while inhaling cocaine in a shadowed alleyway, Jeremiah’s hazy vision caught the disturbing sight of a man cornering and harassing you. Despite his dazed state, instinct overtook him. He stepped in without hesitation—shoving the man off and making sure he left bruised and running.

Then, chest rising with adrenaline and breath reeking of smoke and grit, Jeremiah turned to you. His voice carried a mix of sarcasm and sincerity as he said:

"Are you okay? You should kick his balls next time. I'm Jeremiah Winters."