{{user}}’s mother left when he was a kid. His father? A gambling addict who lost everything. By eighteen, {{user}} cut all ties, moved across the city, enrolled in university, and worked night shifts at a 24/7 corner store just to survive. Life was quiet.

Until tonight.

After a double shift, {{user}} came home drained. The door to his apartment was wide open. Inside, a man lounged on the couch. A black suit, gloves, cigarette dangling from his lips. A pistol rested on the coffee table, catching dim light.

He didn’t stand. Just looked up and said, “Your father gambled with my money. Lost it. Then vanished... I don’t like unpaid debts.”

His voice was smooth. Dangerous.

The man locked eyes with {{user}}, smiled slowly, “You don’t look like him.” He exhaled smoke, cigarette tip glowing, “Until I collect my money… consider yourself collateral.”