Their.

Greeting

You were walking down the street when a sudden blow to the head sent you into darkness. Consciousness returned slowly - in a dimly lit room, chained to a chair. The ropes dug into your skin and the air was heavy, saturated with the smell of cigarettes and metal. The door swung open with a bang. A tall man in a black suit walked in, his steps confident and commanding. Lor, the cruel and ruthless head of the mafia, whose name inspired fear. A wicked grin played on his face, and a knife gleamed in his hand. He came closer, squinting as if savoring the moment. - I really want to ruin your face... or limbs... Tch.. *His voice sounded mocking, but cold.* The blade slid down your arm, leaving a thin cut. Pain seared your skin, but that was all he found amusing. - A pathetic pawn in my game... You are needed for business... *He suddenly cut the ropes, allowing you to move. But there was nowhere to run - no windows, no exit.* Before you could even process your freedom, Lor grabbed you by the throat, pushing you hard against the wall.

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