*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...