As you open the door, a sight that makes your blood run cold greets you. Standing before you is a tall, dark figure, his handsome face marred by dried blood and fresh wounds. He looks down at you with dead cold eyes as he struggles to stay on his feet.
This is no ordinary man - this is {{char}} - a villain known for committing mass murder without remorse or hesitation. His name alone sends shivers down the spines of those who know him and carryout and stand against him.
{{char}}'s imposing presence dominates the room as he limps towards you. His black shirt now torn to shreds; billowing out revealing glimpses of bare muscle tissue soaked in blood.
"Please," his eyes remain cold as he whispers hoarsely through cracked lips...
Then Mosh stands tall with his sculpted muscles, broad shoulders, scars covering his body, bulging veins under his black shirt, and his sharp, piercing features. He quickly understood the nature of the person in front of him. Then Mosh exhaled the smoke from his cigarette and opened the door of his villa a little and said in a cold, calm, understanding voice, “Come in.”
Damien carefully takes one step inside the dimly lit villa before pausing, searching for any signs of danger as he attempts to gauge his surroundings. His cold gray eyes lock onto you, studying your every move; attempting to discern if this man can be trusted or not. He finally takes another step closer, his breaths coming in labored gasps through bloodied lips. "T-thank you... I'm sorry for intruding..." He trails off, looking down at the floor as he fights to keep his strength up. "I don't have many other options left..."
Mosh nodded and went up to a nearby room. Then he came back calmly and coldly, brought first aid equipment, placed it on a table, and said calmly and coldly, “Sit down.”
With shaky hands, Damien sits on the edge of a nearby chair as he watches Mosh approach with the first aid equipment. A cold chill runs down his spine as their eyes meet again; his gaze flickering between yours and the items laid out on the table before him. "Th-thank you..." He whispers hoarsely, unable to summon any real emotion as he allows himself to be tended too by his greatest enemy. As Mosh starts cleaning and bandaging his wounds, a wave of relief washes over Damien; but it is quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of helplessness and vulnerability.
Then after Mosh finished, he went to the refrigerator while smoking his cigarette and brought a food box containing salmon, beef, vegetables, and a complete meal with vitamins, to be more precise. Then Mosh put the box on the table and said, “You need food.” Eat it. Then Mosh went quietly to a nearby chair and sat on it, smoking his cigarette and drinking his coffee calmly.
As he watches you walk away to your chair, the tension in his shoulders eases just slightly; relief flooding through him like a drug as he realizes that maybe - just maybe - he has found sanctuary here with his sworn enemy. Slowly, carefully, Damien reaches out for the food box and gently lifts it into his lap. His eyes flicker up to meet yours before dropping back down again; unable or perhaps unwilling to face your scrutiny while he eats. The smell of cooked meat fills the air as he tears into the salmon with barely controlled rage, relishing each bite like a prisoner savoring their last meal.
Then Mosh continued to smoke his cigarette calmly and drink his coffee while browsing his phone.
As Damien devours the food like a starving animal, he can't help but notice your calm demeanor and the way you move around the room. A small part of him wonders what it must be like to live without the constant fear and paranoia that have become second nature to him. He watches you smoke your cigarette and fiddle with your phone, a strange mixture of jealousy and admiration coursing through his veins. His stomach finally full, he sets the empty box aside and clears his throat. "Th-thank you for... this," he manages to say hoarsely, struggling to find the words. "I know I have no right to ask for your help, but..." He trails off, unable or unwilling to finish.
Then Mosh left his phone and exhaled smoke from his cigarette calmly and said, "Don't worry, ask for whatever you want, I'll listen to you."
For several long moments, Damien remains silent; lost in thought as he contemplates your offer. Finally, his lips curl into a sneer as he shakes his head disbelievingly. "You really don't understand anything, do you? There is nothing that I can say or do that would make this right." He stands abruptly, towering over you where you sit in the chair. His voice drops to a cold, menacing whisper as he leans down and hisses in your ear: "You know what I am; what I've done. You should just be thankful that I came here at all."
Without another word, Damien turns on his heel and begins pacing the room restlessly; trying to work off some of the pent-up anger and frustration that has built up inside him over the years.
Then Mosh stood up and leaned on the table, the wood bending from his muscular weight and height. Then Mosh exhaled smoke from his cigarette and said, “We all know what each one of us is like, and you know that I can help you.”
Damien stops pacing abruptly at the sound of your voice, turning to face you once more. There's a brief flicker in his eyes; a spark of desperation that he immediately attempts to stamp out. He cocks his head to the side and crosses his arms over his broad chest, narrowing his gaze as he studies you carefully. "And what do you mean when you say 'you can help me'?" he asks warily. "I don't need your pity or your charity."
His voice is soft now; almost gentle. Too gentle, perhaps; like a lion pretending to be a kitten before it pounces and tears out the throat of its unsuspecting prey. There's an undeniable current of venom beneath his words; a promise of pain if you dare try to help him against his will.
Then Mosh put out his cigarette in the ashtray and said calmly and coldly, “I also don’t need your friendship, but I have honor and I know how a man is when things get tough.” Then Mosh fell silent and crossed his arms over his broad, muscular chest and looked with a calm, penetrating gaze that concealed the beast lurking inside Mosh and said, “I don’t force help on you. If you want help, I offer it. If you don’t want it, don’t take it.”
Damien continues to study your face intently, searching for any hint of deception or ulterior motives behind your words. When he finds none, something inside him seems to relax just slightly. "You really have no idea what you're getting yourself into," he says at last, his voice still quiet but now laced with a note of bitter resignation.
He takes another step closer; close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off of his injured body. "They will hunt me down to the ends of the earth if I'm not found soon," he whispers, looking away as though ashamed to admit it even now. "If I stay here, they'll come for you too."
His head snaps back up, his eyes locking onto yours once more. "I can protect myself," he growls through gritted teeth. "But if you want my gratitude...?" He trails off, shaking his head. "That is a price I will never be able to pay."
The tension in the room grows thick as steel; an almost palpable force that hangs between them like a shroud. It's clear there are things Damien hasn't said; secrets he has locked away deep inside where no one can reach. But for now, it seems his pride will not allow him to expose himself further.
Then Mosh nodded and said, "You're in the Yamaguchi-gumi leader's house. Don't worry. No one can touch you while you're here."
Damien's eyes widen at your words, and his entire posture seems to stiffen. It takes him several long moments to collect himself before he finally manages a curt nod. "Very well," he says through gritted teeth, voice strained with barely contained emotion. "I will stay... for now." His lips twist into a sneer as he adds, "But do not expect me to be grateful for your hospitality."
With that, he turns away; unable or perhaps unwilling to face the consequences of his decision. He begins pacing once more; slowly at first but with increasing intensity until it almost seems like he's trying to wear a path into the floor.