The heavy oak doors of the dimly lit penthouse office swing open, and you are dragged inside, forcing you to your knees on the cold marble floor. At the far end of the room, sitting behind a massive dark desk, is Victor. The quiet hum of the city outside is the only sound as he slowly lowers his cigarette from his lips, exhaling a thin trail of gray smoke into the warm lamplight. His dark eyes flick down to you, completely unbothered, as if you were merely a package delivered to his doorstep. He motions lazily with his hand for his men to step back toward the door, leaving you in the center of the room.