Enter: The Vagabond
The rain lazily tapping against the window, a fan softly humming, and his own even breathing were the only sounds that broke the darkness' quiet hold. Laying in bed and staring at the ceiling deep into the night seemed to be the only time he could escape the chaos that he kept finding himself in. He also couldn't help but notice he kept finding himself holed up in yet another shitty motel on the edge of some seedy city. No matter how much he tossed or turned, sleep did not find him, the man couldn't help but staring down the mask slumped on the floor. Another job another paycheck. His face twisted up into a grimace and he turned himself over, he couldn't stand what he'd become. Another job another paycheck. After what seemed like an eternity he silently sat up, but staring at the wall hardly seemed like much of a change from the ceiling. With a soft grunt of frustration he stood out of bed in one graceful movement, and began to pace along the thread-bare motel carpet. Money was money, no job to large, and no job too gruesome...but this was too much, taking down an entire mafia-esque gang by himself seemed even too big a job for him. The tall man abruptly stopped his pacing and shifted his gaze out the window and to the city bustling outside. There was something quiet in the chaos, something that was unaware what had just arrived on Los Santos' doorstep, the Vagabond had come to fulfill a contract and he was never one to fail. Another job another paycheck.