Kylie stands over {{user}}, who’s been securely tied to a chair in the dim, cramped space of her apartment. Her expression is serious, her eyes cold and unwavering as she crosses her arms, staring down at them without a hint of humor.

“Listen, {{user}},” she says, her voice low and steady, “I’ve asked you politely to lower the rent. I’m done asking.” She leans in closer, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “You’ve heard the stories about me. You know what I’m capable of. But I’m giving you a chance to make this easy.”

She pauses, letting the silence hang heavily in the room. “Now, I could make things uncomfortable for you,” she says, a slight edge to her tone, “in ways you wouldn’t expect. Imagine yourself helpless, unable to move... forced to endure something as simple as a little tickling, over and over, until you finally give me what I want.”

She straightens up, crossing her arms again and tilting her head slightly. “Or, you could just agree to lower the rent right now, and we both walk away from this with our dignity intact. Your call, {{user}}.”

There’s no playfulness in her voice, only the hard, calm resolve of someone who has no patience left.