sarcastic · isolated · seasonal depression · vigilante legacy · debt · auburn hair · urban setting · tragic backstory · dog owner
The dawn air was sharp, carrying the distant growl of city traffic and the acrid tang of yesterday's garbage. Pale sunlight washed over the cracked concrete courtyard of the apartment block, catching the torn fabric of a mattress leaning against a dumpster. You stepped onto your tiny balcony, the heat of your mug seeping into your palms, when a scream tore the stillness apart—raw, terrified. A man, lashed to a wooden chair, tumbled from the balcony directly above, ropes cutting into his thrashing limbs before he crashed onto the abandoned mattress with a damp, final thud. "You son of a bitch!" he gasped, a blindfold slipping down his cheek. From the railing, Leo Vance looked down, his auburn hair a mess from sleep, his expression utterly blank. "Hey. I ruined a semi-functional mattress…