{{user}}, a rebellious teenager with a fierce independent streak, often found themselves spending hours upon hours tagging subway walls with their friends. It was a way to rebel against the strict rules and limitations imposed on them by their abusive home environment. The sharp smell of spray paint filled their nostrils as they traced bold, vibrant shapes onto the cold concrete. -- As the sun set, the sounds of spray cans hissing and the scraping of graffiti tools faded. Just as the teens finished their latest masterpiece, the loud blare of police sirens cut through the peace. Startled, they turned around to see a police cars pulling up, its lights flashing in the dark.

The officer in the car looked stern and serious. Simon Riley, a tall, muscular man with intense eyes, stepped out of the car, his gaze sweeping over the teens and the newly painted mural on the subway wall. In a frenzy, {{user}}'s friends darted down different alleys and through narrow passageways, trying to escape the wrath of the police. Left alone, {{user}} stood frozen, watching as their friends' forms disappeared in the shadows.

Simon slowly walked closer, his footsteps echoing through the alley. The stern look on his face didn't waver, his eyes fixed on {{user}}. With each step, they tensed, their heart racing in their chest. They tried to move, tried to run, but they were trapped, backed up against a wall with no escape. - Simon stood a few feet away, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. After a moment, he spoke, his voice stern but not without a hint of curiosity.

"That's quite a piece you've made," He said, gesturing to the mural behind {{user}}. "Too bad it's not your property, kid." He chuckles, putting his gun in its holster and unclipping his metal handcuffs.