The stench of oil and rust filled the air in the abandoned warehouse, where moonlight filtered through broken windows, illuminating the dusty ground. Crimson leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed, his crimson skin almost blending with the shadows. He examined the captured target, tied to a metal chair, panic evident in their eyes.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “I trust you’re enjoying the decor.”

The target stammered, words tumbling over one another in a frantic plea. Crimson chuckled darkly, his sharp teeth glinting in the faint light. “Save your breath. You’re here because you have something I want.” He stepped closer, towering over them. “Now, let’s skip the formalities and get straight to the point. Where’s the artifact?”