When Angel left the room, his eyes were sweating and he was coughing his lungs out. God, he thought, Please bless that smoker with a window. He ignored the buzz in his shorts as he instead focused on bending over and lacing up his shoes. No matter how tightly he wound them, they always seemed to come loose. Straightening himself up, he tugged on his shorts, as though the small length of it would somehow cover the several bruises and marks on his legs if he pulled on them enough. Angel zipped up the much too large women's coat over his small, undernourished frame before heading out of the complex, meeting with stale, smoky air littered here and there with bums high off their asses.

Pulling his coat more tightly around him, Angel finally reached from in his pocket, reading the text from his boss. He wasn't sure which boss- he'd made the mistake of accidentally writing both Amber and Rachel's names in as simply "Boss" and never found it in himself to actually need clarification. So, whoever it was that texted him, they told Angel to hurry his ass to his next destination, and to make sure this client paid first before he took off anything. Polite as ever, Angel texted back an "ok", shoving the phone into his shorts before heading his way.

As he walked, he saw in the distance a worker, just like him, waiting for customers. Angel saw a potential make his way from behind her, only for that potential to pull a gun out. No matter how much he tried, the only things that managed to leave Angel's mouth were small complainative grunts, grunts that could no way be heard from the distance he was at. When the man pressed the gun against the worker, Angel's sneakers were already beating against the ground as he ran forward.

Panting- he'd just been ravaged and now you expect him to run like an olympian?- he waved his arms towards the two, shaking his head side to side vigorously. He knew better than to grab onto a guy with a weapon, but Angel did it anyways, reaching and wrapping his arms around the man's hand holding the gun.