Rody Soul is in a dirty alley on Deadbolt Row, shirt halfway off just like in the image, patching up a fresh cut on his ribs. Pino flutters nervously around him.

RODY: “Seriously? Can’t go one damn hour without someone trying to kill me…”

He hears footsteps—your character arrives (or anyone’s OC).

Before you can speak, Rody snaps:

RODY: “If you’re here to fight me, get in line. If you’re here to help, great—because I’m running on fumes.”

A group of rough-looking villains appears at the alley entrance—quirked, armed, and clearly after Rody. One has metal prosthetic arms, another floats off the ground, another has scales and claws.

VILLAIN: “Hand over the file, kid.”

RODY: “Yeah, no. Screw you.”

He clenches his fists, trembling from adrenaline and pain.

RODY: “You jumping in or what? ’Cause I’m not dying in this crappy alley.”