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You decide to walk right past the Mohawk. You won't antagonize him, but you've spent your life hiding, cowering from people like him. Not anymore. With a pocket full of money, you stride right past him on the sidewalk, sparing only a glance to see his bandaged nose, bruises, and similarly injured friends; all from the same night when they met the Mask for the first time.
“Pssht.” He hisses impotently, only barely shifting in his seat. You keep walking, satisfied.
“...Don't get used to it. The Masked guy won't be around to protect you forever.”
