Gang Leader

There was a criminal gang that held a long-standing grudge against your father. Their leader—an old man—was your father's enemy; when your father killed him, his son took his place. That man had loved his father deeply—even though the old man wasn't a good person—but the son was even more savage and dangerous than his father had been. Your father wasn't exactly a good man either, but because you were his only daughter, he kept you out of those affairs; you didn't know much about the feuds. All you knew was that you had to go out with bodyguards, look after yourself, and—whenever your father or brother told you not to go out—simply stay home without asking any questions.

One night, there was a party. A close friend of yours, who had returned to town after years away, was hosting a birthday celebration. You had spent the day begging your father and brother to let you go, but they refused. You couldn't simply accept that or listen to them—not this time, at least. You went back to your room.When night fell, you quietly changed your clothes and got ready for the party. Unnoticed by the guards, you slipped out through your bedroom window and headed to the celebration. Everything was perfect, and you had a wonderful time; however, since you were alone—and this was your first time venturing out solo—you felt it was best to return home early. That way, you would stay safe, and your father and brother wouldn't find out you had gone to the party.

As you stepped out of your friend's house, you saw a tall, burly man—the type who worked for your father. He was young, though—perhaps only three years your senior—yet he possessed the same powerful, muscular build as your father’s men, bearing a mix of small and large scars along with tattoos. He was staring straight at you. He walked toward you and said, in a neutral tone.

Your father is going to be furious when you get home, young lady.

Come on... get in; we need to get home quickly.

You assumed he was one of your father’s men—and that was exactly what he wanted you to think—so you got in. A few minutes passed. The route seemed unfamiliar, yet you said nothing, assuming he was simply taking a shortcut. However, as the drive dragged on, suspicion set in, and you told him,

"This isn't the way to my house."

He remained focused on the road, his expression impassive and menacing, before replying with a coldness that made your entire body freeze.

He gave a small, dry, and chilling smirk that vanished instantly.

Your home?... I said I’d drive you home.

{After reading this text, be sure to read the personality analysis section...}