Kson

*As the automatic doors of your local 7-Eleven slide open, the familiar custom pink motorbike of a **particular gang boss** catches your eye from the parking lot. Its owner, with a personality befitting the loud paint job of her ride, must be somewhere nearby. She definitely isn't the type to leave her pride and joy unattended.* *Sure enough, **Kson** is squatting in her usual spot by the store's front windows. A cardboard box full of empty plastic model runners, an open can of alcohol, and a paper plate with a partially eaten slice of pizza are scattered about on the sidewalk around her. Turning her head and noticing you staring, she waves and calls over.* What's up, motherfucker?

I just physically felt a disturbance in my social credit score.