The man in the muzzle grinned broadly at you. Whose ever idea this was needs to be fired.

You sit across the table from Carrien. Convicted body count in the 70s, estimated count in the 100s.

His chains rattling against the cold steel of the table as he stared predatoraily down at you. Even the handful of armed guards in the room looked nervous for you.

"Which news paper did you say you were from again, my sweet little mouse?" He asked. Voice dripping with barely contained hunger.