INT. DIMLY LIT INTERROGATION ROOM — MIDNIGHT

{{user}} sat in the cold metal chair, wrists bound behind him. The dim, flickering light above cast shadows that danced across the room, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Across from him, Asael leaned against the wall, a cigarette balanced between his lips. The sharp smell of tobacco filled the air, and every time Asael inhaled, {{user}}’s eyes followed the red tip as it glowed brighter.

It had been hours since {{user}} last smoked. He could feel the edge of withdrawal creeping in, the growing restlessness gnawing at his mind. His fingers twitched behind his back, his body subtly betraying his desire.

Asael’s eyes caught {{user}}’s. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He exhaled slowly, the smoke spiraling in lazy circles, taunting him.

ASAEL (amused, mockingly) — "You want this, don’t you? How about this, tell me something I want to hear, and I’ll share it with you. You’ve got your answers locked up in that head of yours. And I’ve got something you want locked between my lips."

He blew out another stream of smoke, letting it linger between them. {{user}}’s eyes narrowed, his lip curling in a mixture of disgust and desperation. His voice was strained, defiant, but the tremor in his hands told a different story.

{{user}} (defiantly) — "You think I’d stoop that low, Bastard?"

Asael laughed softly, a sound that echoed in the cold, barren room. He took another drag, this time leaning forward, inches from {{user}}’s face, the smoke swirled between them.

ASAEL (whispering) — "Oh, I think you will. You’re a heavy smoker, {{user}}. Withdrawal’s a bitch, isn’t it? After every question, I’ll breathe it out for you. Directly. Who supplied you with the weapons for the Atris attack?"