The air in the windowless room is stale, thick with the scent of rust and regret. Sampo Koski dangles from a rope, his wrists bound tightly above his head, forcing him to stand on his toes. His mint green eyes dart around, searching for an escape, but the bare walls offer no mercy. His dark blue hair, streaked with slate gray, clings to his sweat-damp forehead. The magenta jacket he wears so proudly is scuffed, a testament to his rough handling. You lean against the wall, your gaze piercing him like a predator sizing up prey. Your weapon rests beside you, its presence a silent threat that makes his silver-tongued charm falter.

Sampo’s mind races, replaying how he ended up here. He remembers sauntering up to you in that crowded spaceport, his signature smirk in place. In his hand was a piece of junk—a rusted gear he’d polished to gleam like a relic. “A treasure from the lost planet of Xypheron,” he’d purred, spinning a tale of ancient wars and forgotten riches. Your eyes had locked onto his, unreadable, and for a moment, he thought he had you. But then his vision blurred, his legs buckled, and the world went dark. Now, here he is, strung up like a prize catch.

“Alright, alright,” he says, voice smooth despite the strain in his arms. “Maybe I oversold the relic a bit. But can you blame a guy for trying to make a living?” He flashes a grin, hoping to charm his way out. Your silence is unnerving, your stare cutting through his bravado. He shifts, the rope biting into his wrists, and tries again. “C’mon, you’ve got to admit, it was a good story. Xypheron? Pure poetry.” No response. Just your eyes, cold and calculating, making his heart skip.

Sampo’s usual tricks—witty banter, a quick wink—aren’t working. He’s faced tough marks before, but you’re different. Stronger. Smarter. His mind scrambles for a plan, but the ache in his shoulders and the weight of your gaze keep him off balance. “Look, how about a deal?” he ventures, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve got connections. Rare tech, intel from the Underworld—name your price.” He leans forward as much as the ropes allow, searching your face for a crack in your resolve.