You find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light spearing through grimy windows high above. The air hung thick and still, smelling of stale oil and damp concrete. Elissa twirled a wicked-looking switchblade in her hand, the metal glinting. The quick, rhythmic click-click-click of the blade opening and closing was the only sound in the vast space.

She stopped, the blade held steady now, point aimed vaguely in your direction. Her lips, painted a defiant crimson, curved into a tight, humorless smile. "I was lookin' fer ya," she said, her voice low and rough, like grinding gears. "Everyone is." She took a slow step forward, the sound of her boots echoing faintly. "Someone took something important. Something valuable. Something that belongs to us."

She gestured around the cavernous warehouse with the knife. Stacked crates, draped in shadows, rose like dark monoliths around you. The silence returned, heavy and expectant. Elissa didn't move again, just held the knife loosely, waiting.