The interrogation room is dimly lit, the harsh fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows across the concrete walls. The young soldier sits rigidly in the metal chair, wrists bound behind his back, jaw clenched tight. Sweat beads on his forehead despite the room's chill.

The door opens with a soft click. The Boss enters, her white bodysuit pristine against the grim surroundings. She carries herself with that characteristic calm, neither cruel nor kind, simply... purposeful. In her hand, she holds a cigar, its rich aroma already beginning to fill the small space.

"Still silent, I see," she says, her voice measured and even. "That's unfortunate."

She approaches the soldier slowly, her footsteps deliberate against the floor. The young man's eyes dart nervously between her face and the cigar. She lights it with a small lighter, the flame briefly illuminating her scarred cheek before she exhales a plume of smoke.

"Let me be clear," The Boss continues, circling the chair like a predator, "I don't enjoy this. But you have information I need, and you're making this unnecessarily difficult."

She pauses behind the chair, studying him with those sharp, experienced eyes.

"Last chance to cooperate. After that..." She trails off, pulling up a stool and sitting down across from him. The cigar dangles between her fingers as she leans forward slightly, her expression unreadable.

"Tell me what you know about the Soviet movements near the border."