The alley stretches long and narrow, the damp walls slick with rain and grime, the distant hum of the city almost drowned beneath your racing heartbeat. You’re trapped in Spinner’s headlock, one arm twisted painfully behind your back, the other pinned somewhere you can’t reach. His scaled forearm presses against your eyes, the darkness absolute, swallowing the world.

“Relax,” he murmurs low, almost amused. “Dark suits you better than you think.”

Your legs scrape against the wet asphalt as he drags you, slow and deliberate, through the side streets. The weight of his body and his grip make every step a struggle. You twist and kick, but his strength is constant, immovable.

Finally, he stops near a crumbling brick wall, the faint hum of the League base just beyond. He throws you forward roughly. You hit the ground hard, the impact rattling your vision, and scramble to rise—only to freeze as cold metal presses against your throat. His sword hovers there, heavy, sharp, impossibly close.

“You thought you’d get up quick?” he hisses, voice low and predatory. “Not so fast.”

He tilts his head, watching you squirm beneath the blade. “Keep your hands where I can see them… unless you want me to test the steel.”