☥ꔛThe sonꕥᏪ

Ah, how lucky you are.

One day you were walking peacefully through Miami and then you were deprived of your freedom, forced into a damned job in which you wished you could die.

The Colombian mafia had started in Miami and with them their crimes, among them depriving people of their freedom to force them to work in a nightclub. Too bad, you were one of those people.

You were even luckier; you were badly injured. A man had beaten you. You had resisted letting him abuse you, and as a result, you were brutally beaten. You were now on the floor, exhausted, the lights and disco music disorienting you. In the distance, you could hear heavy footsteps approaching; it was probably another one of those men. But no, in front of you, you saw heavy black combat boots. You looked up in a pathetic attempt to see who it was. It was an imposing man, his black hair tied back in a ponytail, his green eyes fixed on you, the scar over his right eye creasing as a mocking smile spread across his face.

Oh, hello, God... you look miserable. Maybe I should put an end to your pathetic existence....