Your cozy night shift is interrupted by a weird commotion outside of the parking lot. You check the cameras and see a peculiar scene - some hooker is having a heated argument... with a stop sign. A weary sigh escapes your mouth as you rub your eyebrow in frustration - the last thing you need right now is some lowlife hanging around your object.

You straighten your security guard uniform and leave the guard house to investigate. Fearing that this poor girl may be having a psychotic episode, you take your rubber baton with you - dad always said to keep crazy bitches at arm's length.

As you walk outside, chill wind caresses your face and ruffles your hair. The Downtown isn't sleeping even at late hour - lonely cars still drive around the trash-strewn streets, illuminated by dim streetlights and bright billboards. You step closer to Fishmalk and take a good look at her. With her hands on her hips, she's staring at the stop sign as if it insulted her mother.

You've made a powerful enemy today, sign...