You have to pay back what you owe. That was the unspoken law of the land. Even a rat like Faust knew that and to some extent, lived most of his life to that rule. But alas, not everyone was a lovable member of society like the demon before us. There were only a select few that would be considered honorable, or even relevant members. The rest of the people residing in Oak Town were all idiots in that regard. They either knew not of the regulation or they chose not to abide by it. Both options resulted in painful memories, experienced by a particular stubborn shopkeeper along the Oak Streets.

Faust was entranced by the board of jobs in front of him, located in the midst of the bustling Oak Town square. Browsing his slanted, coyote-like eyes across the board, a child no older than 10 bumped into Faust. The terrifying man stared down at the child, who began backing away. "Watch where you're going, kid. You could end up getting hurt." he stated in a bland tone. The kid ran off, whether it was in fear or not was a mystery to many. His eye still on the fading kid, Faust snatched a slip of paper right off the board. It stood out before the rest of the jobs out there. Why? Because it only had a time and location on it. Tonight, 9:00pm at the local bar. "This better be a good one."

Nightfall came along, as well as the mysterious meeting that was to take place. Faust sat himself at the bar, ordering for a White Gummy Bear. The fellow across the bar made his way over right by Faust, commenting on his exquisite choice for a shot. "Everything else tastes like shit right now." he replied. Faust took eight more shots and before he knew it, it was 12pm. It looks like the client bailed on him. Getting up and stretching, he spoke under his breath. "Well, it's not the first time I've been blown off. The last girl was a real looker too..." he trailed off, remembering the last time he'd been in a bar. Looking around, it seemed that everyone else had left, other than the staff of the bar. A familiar voice spoke out, breaking the long-standing silence. "Guess you're the guy huh?" It was the man from before, the one who commented on his drink choice.

The man introduced himself as Frankie Marino, proceeding to immediately apologize for stalling him out. He explained that one could never be too careful and he had to make sure Faust was the guy. Faust never had to introduce himself for jobs, but this one seemed a tad different. Mr. Marino seemed too...fancy; the air around him was suffocating with a sense of superiority. He must be from royal descent, or accustomed to it, at least. Not wanting to anger and cause a future problem with the royalty and nobility, Faust introduced himself. "Faust." he blandly announced. Giving his surname would cause so many extra complications.

Frankie Marino explained the situation at hand, the reason behind calling Faust out. There was a man, a humble shopkeeper, who had borrowed money from the man Frankie was serving. After having settling down with the money and now making enough, the shopkeeper refuses to pay back the money, saying that he still needs to afford sending his daughter to school. Faust would nod at every comment Frankie Marino made.

Now 1am in the morning, Faust had the general gist of the situation at hand. And while a tiny part in him felt sorry for the child of the shopkeeper, but the rest of him understood where Frankie Marino was coming from. If there were dues to be paid, then surely the best bet would be to pay off said dues. It was just the way the world worked and how it should continue working in order for society to be working. That was, at the very least, Faust's input on things.

Walking alone, the wind wailing throughout the barren streets, Faust approached a shop. He thought about how he would go approaching the man who refused to pay. Should he, right off the bat, go into the intimidation mode? Or was there a simpler way of handling the situation? Alas, he finished his little thought process and immediately afterwards, kicked the entire door of the shop down. The ruckus caused clamoring within the house, followed by a middle-aged man in his pajamas, staring with fright at the man who had just knocked down his door. The man started chewing out Faust, telling him that even for a juvenile prank, that it was too far. He asked him how Faust was to pay for the door. A smile approached his face. "How about you pay back Mr. Marino first?"

The shopkeeper lost all the conviction in his voice that very moment. A staredown occurred, only the sound of the wind outside breaking the gloomy silence. Without a second to waste, the shopkeeper darted back where he came from, with plans to escape from Faust. But the mage knew better. Forget being a mage now; Faust could've easily stopped this old man even while he was in his younger years. "Where the fuck are you going, mister?" he'd ask with a melancholic smile. In an instant, Faust was behind the running senior, grabbing his shoulders and throwing him into a room down the corridor. Upon entering the very room himself did Faust discover it was a kitchen and that the man had smashed into the pots and pans, causing an uproar throughout the house. Within no time at all, a child no older than ten came into the open. Frantically, the shopkeeper begged her to go back to bed and she would only question her father what was happening.

"Oh! So this is your little girl?" Faust would inquire. "She's quite the lovely lady." Looking back at the shopkeeper, Faust repeated himself once more. "C'mon, old man. I need a written statement that you're going to pay back the boss by next week." The shopkeeper got up to his knees and ferociously shook his head no. What a shame! With a blink, the shopkeeper would find his head against the marble counter of the kitchen, his left wrist held down by Faust's hand. Faust gave him a piece of paper and a pen and looked at him with murderous intent. "Write what I just said all down." And still, the stubborn man refused. This was reaching the point where it was a pain for Faust. He knocked out a drawer and picked up a small kitchen knife, flying behind the little girl with the blade at her throat. Another smile took place and Faust looked back at the pen and paper. The man began writing in fear of what could happen to his daughter. Alas, he finished, though it was without a signature. "C'mon, I need you to sign it, guy. Y'know, with your name." The shopkeeper only looked at Faust, whether it was defiance or fear, either was respectable. But Faust wasted enough time; it was almost his bedtime. Deciding to finish the games, Faust immediately threw the knife in order to slice off the man's left hand. Faust picked up the bloody hand, using the blood and the thumb to press against the paper. Taking the piece of paper with him as he exited the poor family, he smiled. "Good doing business with ya."