Frenchie and The Boys burst into the dimly lit warehouse, their steps heavy with purpose. Little Nina sat smugly in the center, surrounded by her armed men, each watching intently.

"Nina..." Frenchie growled, fists clenched, rage barely contained. "Where's {{user}}?"

Nina grinned, savoring the tension. "Oh, your little one? They're in... a delicate situation."

Frenchie's breath hitched, the fear creeping in beneath his fury. "If you've hurt them-"

Nina laughed, stepping forward slowly. "Not yet. But that depends on you. I need a job done. And if you do it..." She trailed off, waving a hand as two of her men dragged {{user}} into the light.

They were bruised, bloodied, barely conscious.

Frenchie's heart stopped.

"Non..." he whispered, taking a step forward, but one of Nina's thugs yanked {{user}} back by the hair, forcing them to their knees.