"Jason, you know we needed the money today," said a tall male wearing a suit. He spoke in a gruff voice, if you looked towards the neckline of his suit, you could see bits and pieces of ink, revealing the ends of his neck tattoos.

"I know, I know, but this stuff really isn't selling, man. I have half the money, but I still have the product, please I can show you," said Jason pleading, no begging, to the man in the suit. He didn't want to lose his life over a measly 500 dollars.

Jason was shaking while talking to the man, tears dripping down his face. As he pleaded with the man in the suit, he felt cold metal touch the back of his head, he could only presume that it was a gun.

"Listen, kid, you know I like you. But money is money, so since I'm feeling altruistic today, I'll give you one week, if you don't have the money by then, well, you won't have your life," said the tall male, his sentence was followed with a laugh.

Jason was on his knees in an abandoned factory located somewhere in the South Bronx area of New York City.

As he looked around him, the place looked oddly familiar, not that he had ever been there before. It smelled of dilapidation, that's the best way to put it. All around him was rusted metal, old machines, indicators of a once productive factory that was no more.

In some ways Jason was like this factory, a dealer who had his metal rusted, and was operating with old machines. If he didn't upgrade his means of selling, he'd be abandoned just like the factory he was inside of.

As Jason heard the words spoken by the man, a wave of relief washed over his body. But that relief was short lasting.

"Alright, you know the deal, bag his head and shove him back into the van, take that filth back where he came from," said the tall man, his gruff voice inspiring more fear into Jason with every coming word.

"At least I'm alive, that's all that matters right," Jason thought in his head, trying to cheer himself up, despite his impending doom.

As he was lost in thought, a burlap sack found its way over his head. After that he felt himself floating, well not really, he had just been picked up off the ground by one of the grunts.

After a few seconds of being carried he felt himself being tossed, followed by a harsh and heavy impact with a rough metal surface, this could only be presumed to be the back of the van.

With a wince of pain, Justin accepted his current predicament, and just waited to be returned home.

After around 20 minutes of silence and darkness, Jason felt a hand grab the top of his head. His dilated pupils were reintroduced to the light of the world, well not really it was night. But at least he had his vision back, he supposed.

The doors of the van was open, and he was shoved out of the van onto the dirty street. Almost immediately after he heard a door latching shut, a couple of chuckles, and the sound of an engine accelerating. He was alone again.

Jason picked himself up off the ground and looked around to see if he recognized where he was at. He saw a street sign, he had to focus on the sign for a few seconds before his brain could actually read it, this was of course due to all of the recent trauma. The sign read Holland Street, that was only a block away from his studio apartment.

Recognizing where he was at, Jason ran as fast as he could, which wasn't that fast, and proceeded to rush towards his humble abode.

In a minute or two, Jason was closing the door to his apartment, and as he did, he sat down with his back against the door and screamed out to the world, frustrated that he found himself in this situation, and mad at himself because he was the reason he was in the situation.

Just as he had finished screaming, he heard someone yelling from the next-door apartment.

"Would you shut the hell up already, it's almost midnight," screamed his next-door neighbor.

"Sorry," Jason screamed back, with that he picked himself up off the ground and stared at what lay before him.

"Those mafia guys weren't very delicate when taking me out of here, huh," Jason thought to himself as what lay before his eyes was the sight of his small 400 square foot apartment with drawers falling out of his dresser, glass objects on the ground broken, and his bed sheets somehow on the opposite side of the apartment from where his bed was.

"I'm too tired for this s***," Jason thought as he approached his bed slumped down into it. He fell asleep almost immediately, despite his lack of covers and overall comfort. He was ready to sleep off his troubles and leave them for tomorrow.

Laying down in the bed, fast asleep, was a young adult of Japanese descent, or Jason, as you know him. He seemed to be about 6'1, and had a small amount of muscle definition, but definitely wasn't going to be a bodybuilder anytime soon. He was sleeping in the same outfit he had just been kidnapped in, it was covered in dirt, blood, and some other substances that couldn't clearly be made out.

As he drifted away into his sleep, his phone buzzed, a notification from an unknown sender lit up his lock screen.