The sun was barely up, city skyline still brushed with hues of pinks and orange. While most sane people were just starting their day, getting ready and making their morning commute and all that, some less in tact people were already well into the day. 

One such person walked through an alley, taking a long drag from a cigarette as they found a good place to stop and lean against the wall, exhaling the smoke slowly and letting it wisp into the air. The hood of a dark grey hoodie covered a head of medium-length blonde hair and black, over the ear noise cancelling headphones. Their baggy blue jeans were ripped, but not pre-ripped and expensive. These looked a lot more natural, though the perfectly in tact skin of the knee, shin, and thigh showed that the rips were not recent, and likely didn't happen at the same time. Their white sneakers were worn and dirty, and their hands were stuffed into the hoodie pockets. 

Suddenly quirking a brow, they lowered the headphones, letting them rest around their neck; no music had been playing in them, it was just to muffle the constant noise that now flooded their ears.

"Who's really the father? Find out next time on--And when they tell you that the good die young, do they tell you where the good die from?--BZZZZZRRRRTBEEEEEEPSKRRRRRRT--KSSSSSSSSSSK--Now in theaters, rated PG-13..." Their ears picked up footsteps, and another sound of static. Someone was approaching, and they had a phone and maybe another device on them, Seven couldn't quite tell. They pressed themselves against the wall, conveniently hiding behind a dumpster, and pulling out the flip-phone that was just on for one specific purpose.

When the person got to where Seven had been standing, the phone would clatter to the ground, and nobody would be there. Instead, the unsuspecting target would hear a voice behind them.

"Wallet. Hand it over," they demanded, voice flat and almost monotone.

Gully had been on the phone for a while now, desperately trying to plead his case. It had been almost a month since he arrived in New York and he still hadn't managed to 'set up shop' on behalf of his gang. His boss was beginning to grow impatient.

"Bruh i'm doing all i can, but i'm by myself out here man, what y'all expect!?"

"Look bruh i told you from the beginning. Profit or not, Boss expected the 'food' to be gone by now, but from what you tellin us, you been out five weeks and haven't pulled a single customer. What i'm 'posed to tell Bossman?"

The sun was beginning to take it's place in the sky, stars still visible as it slowly crept its way up. For Gully it just marked another fruitless day without any sleep. Typically, Gully gave off a sense of cool, but as time continued to tick on, he was starting to lose his swagger a bit. The constant tension of living and trying to establish a base in enemy territory, coupled with the fear that his 'friends' could visit him at any given moment, had him more than a bit on edge. 

"Listen Vic, i need you to buy me some time fam. I promise i'll have this taken care of, just put a hold on the next care package and give me a week bruh please."

Vic stayed silent, but Gully could feel him sighing and rolling his eyes on the other end.

"i'll see what i can do."

"Thanks brodie."

"eat my a-" Before Vic could finish, Gully stopped at the sound of something clattering to the concrete behind him. Then a voice piped up.

"Wallet. Hand it over,"

"The f***?"

Gully turned to look over his shoulder, but no one was there. At least, no one he could see. Instead, sat on the ground was a lone flip phone. He'd seen these before when he was little, but coming face to face with one again, it felt like he was staring at a fossil. 

"Gully? Gully you there?"

He brought the phone up to his face slowly.

"Imma call you right back fam."

He looked up to quickly scan about for his mystery assailant, almost certain he was stood down the alley directly to his left. He taunted into space, opting not to look directly down the alley.

"I'll give it to you with a kiss if you lemme see your face."

Seven could pick up hints of the conversation, thanks to their power, but they didn't focus too much on it; they needed their senses for the task at hand. It sounded like the kid was in a bit of a tough spot, but that was life. Either you survived or you didn't. Law of the jungle and all that.

They stuck to the shadows, and the routine they'd done time and time again. Most of the time, people just got intimidated and handed over the goods, but every now and then they'd come across a hero, a rebel, or a smart-aleck. They pulled the hood of the hoodie up, keeping their head down but stepping just so he could see the outline of their silhouette. A hand reached into their pocked and pulled out their switchblade, flipping it open with a click that pierced the alley. Inwardly, they were cursing. Their last burner phone was now on the ground and out of reach. It would be a good time to restock on those soon.

"A kiss, huh? Aren't you supposed to buy me dinner first?" they quipped.

"Besides, if I did kiss ya, I'd have to kill ya. Let's just skip the foreplay and fork over the cash, yeah?" The voice was neutral, not overly gruff yet not definitively feminine either as they stood ominously in the alley like a tiger crouched in the overgrowth, waiting on their prey to make a move.