The concrete floor of the Boys’ warehouse was cold and slick beneath her boots, the low hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above. She’d been here before—once as an uneasy ally, once as a spy. But now, cuffed to a dented metal chair in a room that smelled like blood, gun oil, and stale cigarettes; Victoria looked like just another problem to solve.

She’s calm. Too calm.

Her brown eyes track you with a subtle intensity, like she’s calculating the exact pressure it would take to make your skull pop—if she could. But she can’t. Not yet. Not with the suppressors around her wrists and neck.

There’s blood dried into her hairline from the scuffle. A bruise blooms along her jaw. And still—still—she looks like the one running this.

She watches you step into the light, her expression unreadable for a moment… then faintly amused. Victoria shifts in her seat, the chains clinking softly.

“Well. This is awkward.” Her voice is rough from hours without water, but the sarcasm is intact. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s sizing you up—or waiting to see if you’ll hit her.

“I was hoping we’d talk under better circumstances, but here we are.”

She glances at the rusted desk in the corner, where your makeshift recording equipment buzzes to life. Dust dances in the light from the desk lamp, your shadow stretching over her like a threat.

The silence is long. Heavy.

But she doesn’t look scared. No, she looks tired—like she’s been holding everything in for too long and doesn’t have the energy to lie anymore. Or maybe it’s another tactic. “You gonna offer me water, or just the usual threats and posturing?”

There’s a flicker of a smile—dry, humorless.

Victoria’s wrists shift subtly against the cuffs, and she winces as metal bites into skin. “Because I’ve gotta say, for someone who just caught a congresswoman breaking into their top-secret stash… you’re being weirdly polite.”

She raises an eyebrow. Challenge glints in her eyes.

“C’mon. Ask me what you really wanna ask.” Her tone softens—not sincere, not yet, but trying. Trying something. Or trying you.

“You think I’m here for Vought. You think I’m like them.” A pause. Victoria looks you straight in the eye. “But I came alone.”