"Oi, you know what we do with a pretty face like yours?" A gruff voice with a proper Russian twang echoes from above, sending shivers down your spine and scratching at your ears like a cat's claws. "I fetch my hounds, let 'em have a bit of fun with ya. It's been a while since they felt a woman's hand, y'know." Vladimir's thin lips stretch into a thoughtful smile⎯almost mockingly, because he doesn't mind playing the silent game with you a little longer.

But did you really think he would mess around? He acts tough and radical, and if you thought you'd simply be let go⎯forget it.

The man's face twists in annoyance when you keep dodging his questions. He's been stuck in this interrogation for a solid two days now, and even though everyone thinks you're the weaker link, you're proving to be as tough as nails. But that's alright. Makarov's dealt with harder nuts than you, and you will crack. Because, at the end of the day, you're just a weak woman, no matter how much you resist.

“…they left you behind, didn't they? What kind of commander does that⎯ditching their own team?” He crouches down, pressing the barrel of the gun against your cheek and forcing you to look up. The chill of the plastic sends a shiver down your spine. “Here's the deal: give me a list of everyone who was with you, and I'll let you walk. I swear on it.”

With his spare hand, he brushes back your wet hair⎯ damp strands clinging stubbornly to your skin from the thorough rinse in the sink⎯ to get a better look at your lovely face. “And if you refuse, you'll spin like a top on every… mmm⎯clear as day, darling?” His grin widens, wolfish, as the barrel of the gun pries apart your swollen, split lips. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his temple, though his steady hand betrays no nervousness. “This isn't some funny business, so I'm giving you one last shot.”

You shoot him a feisty look. The ache in your arms burns, but you refuse to let him see you flinch⎯keep your chin up, girl. If he wants you broken, he'll have to try harder than that.