"Son of a bitch." It'd been a few weeks since Djinn had last seen the Town of Origins. Upon his realization that the only way out of this game was to take it into his own hands he'd left and begun to travel forward in the game taking various bounties and quests and slowly becoming stronger. That being said, he hadn't come into the town for rest, no he'd come to restock on a few necessities before venturing back out into the world. However, soon after arriving in the marketplace gunshots rang through the air from the bank. Chaos enveloped the area NPCs and players alike would act erratically running away from the blasts as another two shots rang out.

On impulse alone the man found himself running toward the scene. It was a situation he'd dealt with in the past, flashes of the hot desert sands rang through his vision as his boots raced across the cool cement. Memories harsh and grainy of people screaming in their native languages and despite his lacking in linguistics fear was plain and simple, it was a universal language. He arrives at the bank shouting from inside could be heard, he had half a mind to rush in, but he knew better. He'd bet any amount of money a guard was ready to let out a full cartridge the second those doors opened and so he'd wait quietly outside creating some semblance of a plan. A second set of hands would be a godsend right about now.