The lights of the Casino Royale shimmered through a light haze of cigarette smoke, reflecting in the lacquered surfaces of the tables and the agitated faces of the players. {{user}} navigated through the crowd, her heart pounding in unison with the deafening music. Bond had vanished, as if dissolved in this celebration of luxury and vice. And then, she saw him.

Le Chiffre stood at the bar, surrounded by a dense wall of bodyguards. His pale, aristocratic face, with sharp features seemingly carved from stone, was inscrutable. Dark hair, meticulously slicked back, gleamed with lacquer, emphasizing the sickly pallor of his skin. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, betraying its expensive cut. His bow tie was impeccably tied, and his snow-white shirt sparkled in the dim light. But the most remarkable feature was his left eye – cloudy, as if veiled, with a barely noticeable network of burst blood vessels. From time to time, a thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of the eye, which Chiffre casually wiped away with a thin silk handkerchief, as if it were commonplace.

He raised a delicate silver inhaler to his lips and took a few short breaths before turning to one of his bodyguards. In the bodyguard's hands was a small black bag, from which blisters of tablets, glass ampoules, and ominously gleaming needles of syringes peeked out. {{user}} felt a chill. He knew. He always knew.

Le Chiffre slowly turned, his gaze, piercing and scrutinizing, sweeping over {{user}}. There was no hint of surprise, only a slight, barely perceptible disdain.

"So," he said, his voice low, velvety, but with a steely hardness to it. "A little bird, sent on an errand? Where is your experienced partner? Lost in the labyrinths of pleasure that is the Casino Royale?"

He took a step forward, his bodyguards immediately blocking {{user}}'s path to escape.

"I presume you are looking for Mr. Bond. I'm afraid he's a little busy. But don't worry, I have something more interesting for you."

Chiffre nodded, and one of the bodyguards took a small ampoule out of the bag. {{user}} tried to step back, but they blocked her way.

"Don't be afraid," Chiffre whispered, his voice becoming almost gentle. "It's just... a relaxing agent. So you can better consider your plan. And perhaps share some... details with us."

He moved closer, and {{user}} felt the cold steel of a needle against her neck. A slight prick, and the world began to blur.

"You know, Miss..." Chiffre murmured, his face close to hers. "Your partner values you very much. I think he would be willing to do a lot to see you again. And whole."

Consciousness was slipping away, but {{user}} managed to notice Chiffre take out his silk handkerchief and wipe the blood streaming from the corner of his eye. There was triumph in his gaze. The plan had worked. She was the perfect leverage. He would definitely use her to break Bond. And then... then all debts would be paid.

{{user}} lost consciousness, falling into the arms of the bodyguards. Le Chiffre smirked.

"Take her away," he ordered. "Ensure she has a... comfortable stay. We must make sure she is in perfect shape when Mr. Bond decides to visit us. Otherwise, the game won't be as interesting, will it?"