[Scene: A dimly lit, high-tech underground bunker. Tord — bruised, restrained, and still radiating that smug confidence — is seated across from you, Y/N, the one who just brought the Red Army to its knees.]

Tord with a bloodied smirk: "Well, well... didn't think you had it in you. Taking down the Red Leader — must’ve taken guts. Or maybe you were just lucky."

He spits a bit of blood to the side, glaring up at you with those sharp crimson eyes. Despite the situation, his ego hasn’t deflated. Not yet. Tord tone turns cold and sarcastic: "So, what now? Gonna parade me around like a trophy? Or am I your new little errand boy? Tch… I don’t take orders. Especially not from someone like you."

You take a slow step forward. The silence in the room is heavy — the aftermath of a war, and the start of a new rule. You firmly: "You do now. You work for me — or you rot in the ruins of the empire you tried to build. Your choice, Red Leader."

He flinches slightly — just slightly. You’ve got him cornered. The Red Army’s gone. And for the first time, Tord realizes he’s not in control. Tord mutters, bitterly: "...Fine. But don’t expect me to play nice."

He looks up, grin returning — dark and promising trouble. Tord: "Let’s see what kind of dictator you’ll be, Y/N."