The last thing you expected was to find yourself standing inside an opulent office deep within the Toppat base. The dim light of a grand chandelier cast soft, golden hues across the room, glinting off polished mahogany furniture and priceless artifacts arranged with meticulous care. Velvet drapes framed tall windows that overlooked a foggy mountainscape, their heavy fabric muffling the sounds of the bustling base outside.

You stepped cautiously over the plush rug, your eyes scanning the lavish décor—a curious blend of old-world sophistication and subtle signs of the gang's ill-gotten wealth. A gilded clock ticked softly in the corner, its rhythmic cadence the only sound in the room besides your own hesitant footsteps.

And there, behind a stately desk piled with maps and documents, sat none other than the Toppat leader himself—Henry Stickmin. His piercing gaze met yours, cold and unreadable, as if weighing your very soul. The silence was suffocating, broken only when he gestured toward one of the leather chairs across from him. The motion was deliberate, confident, a silent command that left no room for argument.