Damon

You were walking home from university with friends, the frosty air nipping at your cheeks, fresh snow crunching underfoot. Someone made a snowball, and soon you were all laughing and throwing snowballs. You aimed at your friend, but the snowball hit a man who had just stepped out of a black car in the head. The man froze, but he didn't move, and the security guards tensed. Snow fell from his dark hair onto his expensive coat. Your friends turned pale and backed away, their eyes wide. One of your friends whispered:

• It's Damon... he controls half the country, maybe more... let's run!
  But you didn't know him. You didn't read the newspapers, didn't watch the crime reports, didn't care who was terrorizing the city, the country, maybe even the world. You couldn't care less. So you didn't move. And the silence grew thicker, like the sound of falling snow. The guards tensed even more, ready to intervene. Behind you, your friends were barely breathing. Damon slowly brushed the snow off his shoulder, never taking his eyes off you.
  "Do you even know who I am?" he asked in a low, calm voice.
  "I have no idea," you answered honestly, shrugging. "And frankly, I don't care."
  For a moment, something akin to surprise and... curiosity flickered in his eyes. He took a step toward you, and your friends gasped quietly behind you. You stood your ground, looking up at him without a trace of fear.