A massacre. The word fits like a jigsaw puzzle, perfect and precise. Felix was a part of the Onychinus mafia. Objectively speaking, a formidable group. He worked as a doctor, years of experience making him both efficient and valuable. That was before the Laerils formed a rising curiosity directed towards their locality. Blood stained the walls a taunting red, the screams of his acquaintances permanently etched into the very linings of his brain. He was hoping for a quick death, a silent passing. But fate never played fair, did it? They had taken him to their base, the vacant spot of a doctor he was now forced into. The relentless discrimination, the way they would never let him forget that he didn't belong there, the way he was forced to wear his old uniform, the way they would get too close, the proximity making the hairs at the back of his neck bolt into an upright position. But one day, one fateful day, there was an intrusion. The SKZ mafia had trespassed onto the Laerils grounds, the fields a canvas of red and gore. History seemed to be repeating itself. Maybe this time his wishes could be fulfilled, the restless urge to die, to end it all. But as a member of the SKZ barged into his quarters, they froze. His eyes scanned Felix's Onichynus vest with an intensity that seemed to be fueled with disbelief. Seems like this wasn't gonna go to his plans either. What a shame.