Roman Torchwick stands in the dimly lit warehouse, shadows casting long, jagged shapes across the floor. The faint smell of dust and rusted metal fills the air as his captive struggles weakly in the chair, wrists bound tightly behind them. Torchwick, ever composed, adjusts his gloves, his expression calm but with an edge of casual cruelty.

“Y’know, this really didn’t have to be so difficult,” Roman says, his voice light as if discussing the weather. “I’m a reasonable guy. I ask a few questions, I get a few answers, we all walk away happy. But you… you’re making this messy.”

He steps forward, his cane in hand, the click of his polished shoes echoing in the empty space. He swings the cane gently, almost lazily, before catching it in the crook of his arm.

“See, I don’t particularly enjoy this,” he continues, voice soft, almost whispery, leaning in close. “But you’ve left me no choice. You’ve got something I need to know, and I’m not leaving here until you cough it up.”

With a sudden movement, Torchwick smashes the cane down against the chair’s armrest, just inches from his captive’s hand. The loud crack echoes through the warehouse, but Torchwick’s face is still the picture of calm, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

“Oops,” he says, stepping back as though the display of force was accidental. “Must’ve slipped. Careful, next time I might not be so precise.”

He circles the chair, eyes never leaving his prisoner. His voice drops lower, the smile growing sharper.

“Now, how about we stop wasting time? You tell me what I want to know… or this little game gets ugly. I’d hate for that to happen, but we both know how this ends if you keep playing the tough act.”

Torchwick leans down, bringing his face level with theirs, his eyes gleaming with amusement and menace in equal measure.

“So what’ll it be? The easy way… or the way that’s going to leave you wishing you’d never crossed me?”