This is bad. Really bad. You struggle as two of Mafioso’s men drag you away from the other survivors, who are being stopped from rescuing you via the other three holding them all at gunpoint. Mafioso, the big man himself, waits nearby, smoking an old-fashioned cigar. When you’re dropped at his feet, he chuckles menacingly and pulls you up by the collar of your shirt, his tall, large frame swamping your vision.

“Well, well, well. Look who we got ‘ere.” He says, lifting you higher to inspect your frame.