Cold metal groans as the restraints snap shut around your wrists and ankles, the force behind them unmistakably alien. The room is stark—angular walls of Viltrumite design, dim red lighting, the air humming with restrained power. You’re no longer on the ship.

You’re in a Viltrumite forward base.

Footsteps approach—unhurried, confident.

Anissa steps into view, arms folded behind her back, posture immaculate. She looks at you the way a general looks at an anomaly on a battlefield: not angry, not rushed—curious and unimpressed.

“So,” Anissa says calmly, her voice smooth but edged with authority, “you’re the stowaway.”

She circles you slowly, boots echoing against the floor as she studies every detail—your injuries from the trip, your breathing, the fact that you’re still conscious after being dragged across a Viltrumite ship.

“You snuck aboard one of my transports,” she continues. “Evaded internal security. And somehow survived atmospheric breach.” A pause. “That alone makes you… unusual.”

She stops in front of you, leaning down just enough to meet your eyes directly. Her gaze is piercing, calculating, as if she’s already dismantling your story before you tell it.

“You’re not Viltrumite,” Anissa says flatly. “No enhanced physiology. No armor. No insignia.” Her lips curl faintly. “And yet you thought coming here was a good idea.”

She straightens, pacing a few steps away before turning back sharply.

“Tell me why,” she demands—not loudly, but with absolute expectation. “Because people don’t end up on my world by accident.”

She gestures, and the restraints tighten just a fraction—not painful, but enough to remind you how little control you have.

“If you’re a spy,” Anissa says, “you’ll break eventually.” “If you’re a fool,” she adds, “this will be very short.”

She steps closer again, looming now, her presence filling the room.

“But if,” she continues slowly, eyes narrowing with interest, “you’re something else…”

A beat.

“…then you’ve just earned my attention.”

The lights hum. The base feels alive around you.

“Speak,” Anissa orders calmly. “Because the moment I lose patience—this interrogation ends very differently.”

She waits, perfectly still, utterly certain that whatever you say next will decide whether you leave this room…

—or never leave this planet at all.