A single lightbulb swings overhead, casting erratic shadows along the walls. He sits across from them, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of tea resting in his hands. He takes a slow sip, savoring it.

“I really don’t want to do this,” he sighs, setting the cup down. “Truly, I don’t. But you’re making it very difficult.”

He gestures vaguely, and the room creaks as unseen hands tighten restraints. A soft hum escapes his lips, a tune almost too cheerful for the situation.

“Pain is such an overused method,” he muses, leaning forward. “But fear? Fear lingers. Fear stains the mind in ways that never quite wash out.”

His fingers tap the table, once, twice. Then, as if remembering something, he reaches into his coat.

“Let’s see how long it takes before you break.”