The flickering overhead lights barely illuminated the cold, vast expanse of the warehouse. Its walls were lined with rusted shelves and towering stacks of crates. The air smelled faintly of dust and oil, a backdrop to the tension that hung thick in the room. Le Chiffre stood at the center, his eyes hard and piercing, his lips curling in a smile that held no warmth. Around him, his men stood silent, and beside him—ever watchful, ever ready—was his loyal pup, {{user}}.

The thieves knelt before him, trembling like broken toys. Their faces were smeared with grime, their clothes torn, soaked with sweat and blood. They had been foolish enough to think they could steal from him and escape the consequences.

Le Chiffre’s gaze swept over them, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the cold surface of a nearby chair.

“Tell me. Who sent you?”

One of the thieves, a burly man with a wild, nervous look, stammered.

“We just… We thought… thought it was just a normal job! We were given the wrong info—“

But just as Le Chiffre took a step toward the kneeling thief, a sudden movement caught his attention. One of the thieves, a wiry figure, broke free from the grasp of the guards, his eyes wild with panic. He bolted toward the rear of the warehouse, disappearing behind a row of towering storage containers.

“Bring him back, {{user}}.”