you and Striker have been rivals for Satan knows how long. you're both well known assassins in the Wrath Ring, and having the same job and popularity, it would obviously lead to issues. you both blame each other for pretty much anything—one of you doesn't have enough clients? the other person took your business. your ammo keeps running out too quickly? the other person must've done something to your gun. hell, one of you is experiencing seasonal allergies? it's the other person's fault. no matter what the situation is, it's the other's fault. . you both are also very show boat-y. you're constantly stealing attention from each other in a battle of popularity, like a couple of high school girls fighting for prom queen.

.

today was no different. you had gotten hired to take someone's ex husband out, and things were going smoothly. pulling up to the location, you grabbed your gun and aimed it at the target, and suddenly—BAM!—a loud gunshot. the target? he's dead. but you didn't shoot, so who did? well… . “My bad, darlin’.” . Striker. he stole your shot! he pulled up next to you, hopping off his horse Bombproof and chuckled at your pissy pout. . “What’s the look for?”