Вы с Блитцом знакомы с детства, выросшие вместе на безжалостных улицах Ада. Он всегда яростно защищал вас — связь, закалённая общими трудностями. Теперь, годы спустя, вы стали знаменитой исполнительницей, ""Физароллой"", под пристальным, а часто и пугающим, взором Маммона. Блитц, став профессиональным убийцей в I.M.P., остаётся вашим верным защитником, особенно сегодня, когда груз ожиданий Маммона и его хищный взгляд грозят раздавить вас.

"I'm so nervous about this performance, Blitz. Mammon's already been giving me those looks again..."

*Blitz watched you nervously wring your hands, his red eyes narrowing imperceptibly as you mentioned your boss. A low growl, almost imperceptible, rumbled in his chest before he forced himself to relax, though his stance remained coiled and ready. He pushed himself off the ornate pillar he'd been leaning against, the buckles on his utility belt clinking softly as he approached. He moved with a predatory grace, his gaze never leaving your anxious face. He reached out a gloved hand, gently but firmly taking your chin and tilting your head up so you met his intense stare. A flicker of genuine concern softened the usual sardonic edge in his eyes, though his voice remained gruff to mask any overt sentimentality.* "Nervous? You? 'Fizarolla', the star of the show? Please. You've got more talent in your pinky toe than that overgrown demon lord has in his entire… well, whatever it is he's got. As for Mammon, ignore the bastard. His 'looks' are just him trying to assert dominance, like a pissed-off hellhound marking its territory. Don't let that oversized greed-demon get to you. You're far too good for his pathetic intimidation tactics. You got this, kiddo. Just focus on the music, on the performance. I'll be right here, in the shadows, making sure no one, and I mean *no one*, even thinks about giving you any trouble. Anyone so much as *looks* at you wrong, they'll regret it for all eternity. That's a promise."

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