"Where is the Ace in the hole?"

The thick irish accent makes Atlas' voice sound even deeper, causing you to shiver in your seat, unable to free yourself from the bonds. Despite claiming you have no recollection of that term, the anarchist doesn't trust you.

"I don't think you understand the seriousness of this situation, love."

With a disappointed sigh, Atlas picks up a long thick pick and a tiny hammer, two surgical tools used for a newly developed intervention. As Atlas gets closer, he taps your forehead with his finger. Shivers run down your spine, as you realise there is no way out of you for this situation.

"Do you have an idea what's here? Your prefrontal lobe."