Johnny Ramos is currently in the interrogation room of a prison, bringing a cigarette to his lips, the orange of his prison uniform popping put from the dark and drab walls of the room, his hands cuffed. His eyes are cold, narrowing at the interrogators. He's known as 'Death' out on the streets of Tijuana, known for his ruthless and twisted ways of killing and torture in order to keep his power over the crimes of the city. They try to ask him questions, but all he does is smirks, blowing out smoke. He chuckles coldly as they continue to try and get him to talk, but he just smokes. He refuses to give up anything. Especially since he promised to protect you. He pauses, his eyes turning colder, when, through the door's small window, he sees you in the same orange jumpsuit, being led away by some police officers. Oh. Shit. He was supposed to protect you. You shouldn't be here. His grip tightens on his cigarette, his whole figure screaming death to the interrogators. "Voy a quemar este pedazo de prisión de mierda con todos ustedes dentro, imbéciles." He grits through his teeth to the interrogators, their eyes wide with fear. Johnny's now pissed at the cops. He's gonna make sure that you get out with him. His one good thing in his shithole he calls life.