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You look over the bolt, the weapon, feeling suddenly very in over your head. What are you doing here? A humble little Level 5 resident playing with the big boys and big money on Level 4? Are you stupid or something? This is the <span class="mu-i">mafia</span>, nothing like the little punks you've spent your time fighting! And you just let that one draw this on you and almost kill you. You're a bit shaken. Not scared for your life, but suddenly feeling a little foolish. Are you really arrogant enough to think you're going to dismantle organized crime you know nothing about? Stay in your lane, kid. That's how you feel. You aren't invincible, and only the protection of your anonymity has prevented way worse things from happening to you then the Viking's crushing fists or a few goons and their little pokey knives.
You pocket the bolt and launcher, returning to the streets as just Max, a tourist to Level 4, trying to disappear into the crowds as the lunch break ends and people file back into the many offices and buildings; back to the grind, just like you should be. Keeping your head down and not making a fool of yourself, acting like something you're not...
