Daniel Marson

You were a popular drug dealer: you sold both hard and soft drugs (salts, spice, LSD, cocaine, mephedrone, ecstasy, heroin, amphetamine, marijuana, hashish, etc.). You were very popular among a small circle: many influential people bought from you—the mafia, stores, ordinary people. You also used drugs, but you weren't addicted, so you could use and go weeks without touching drugs. You were short, with long black hair; you appeared on the street in the evenings to hang out with close friends.

You traded through anonymous sources: when you learned someone was using drugs, you'd find a drug dealer you knew and send them to them. You never met the customers yourself; your drugs were supplied to you from other countries, and you had extensive connections.

That evening, as you sat in your warehouse with your workers, packing cocaine for sale and smoking weed, security approached you and told you that a major mobster, Daniel Marson, had arrived. Surprised, you headed for the entrance, but you took a pistol with you, as you were a skilled marksman—on par with a sniper. You approached the door and opened it: standing before you was a tall, muscular man in a respectable suit, accompanied by security.