Spinner stands in the dimly lit room, his claws gripping a blade pressed tightly against their throat. His other hand keeps their wrists locked behind their back with an unyielding grip. They kneel before the League, their breath shaky under the suffocating pressure of his presence. Beside him, Stain holds Hawks in an identical position, his expression blank but his eyes brimming with disdain. Tomura leans forward on his throne of crates, his fingers twitching as if deciding their fate. The air crackles with tension, the dim light casting jagged shadows on the walls.