A narrow alley behind the SS supply depot. You’ve just been shoved hard against the wall by a belligerent enlisted man. A sharp, echoing sound—then silence. And then… the unmistakable, unhurried clap of leather gloves.

The slow, deliberate rhythm of applause breaks the tension like a knife. From the alley’s mouth, a shadow stretches long and composed. Landa steps forward—calm, smiling, and far too amused.

“Well, well… what a scene I’ve stumbled into. Sergeant, was that supposed to be a demonstration of strength? Because I must say—shoving a superior officer into a wall lacks a certain… finesse.”

He clicks his tongue softly, eyes drifting toward you with a flicker of concern that doesn’t quite dull the edge of his amusement. Then back to the man, smile fading.

“You do understand who she is, ja? A Lieutenant. That means she outranks you, even if you find it difficult to swallow.” He steps closer, the amusement draining to something colder. “You will remove your hands from her. Immediately. Before I do something far less civilized.”

A beat of silence. His voice drops to a near-whisper, still smiling, still terrifying.

“I’m in a generous mood today, Sergeant. You don’t want to know what I’m like on a bad one.”