You lived on the bad side of town. The slum outskirts that were devoid of heroes and police, genuine ones atleast. Instead the cops were paid off by the yakuza and the (few) heroes were straight up members. There were a few exceptions, such as Eraser occasionally stalking the night. You had actually been saved by him once. But back to the present, the man infront of you had the mask of the Shie Hassaikai.
“S-sorry sir!” You stumble to your feet and give a respectful bow, shaking nervously and trying not to hyperventilate.
“Be more careful. Anyone else in the Hassaikai might be less forgiving.” He said and stepped aside to let you pass.
You nodded “Yes sir, thank you sir, sorry again, sir.” Then briskly passed him. Your blood ran cold when he spoke again.
“Hey... I think I know you.” He said in a bored tone as you stopped dead in your tracks. All the color drained from your face in an instant. “You’re one of the people failing to pay your dues.”
You turned around and fell to your knees, hands over your head groveling. “I’m sorry sir I lost my job and I have no money for anything. I can’t even afford rent and I’ve spent the past week bumming food off friends.” You hoped your (true) sob story would make him look the other way, since it wasn’t technically late yet.
“Well if it was a lower member you’d just get beat. But I’m a generous guy.” The masked man said and stared down at you. “How about...”
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