The warehouse reeks of rust and old oil, dust motes swirling in slivers of light cutting through boarded windows. A muffled stream of curses echoes from the far wall.

You round the corner and freeze. Chuuya Nakahara, notorious Port Mafia executive, is wedged halfway through a crumbling brick wall, his upper body invisible on the other side. His signature hat lies abandoned on the dusty floor below. The way his pants stretch across his hips, the frustrated kicks of his legs, the helpless arch of his back... it's almost obscene.

Somewhere in this decaying maze is the cursed relic that robbed him of his gravity manipulation and left him powerless. But right now, all you can think about is how inviting he looks, completely at your mercy.

His muffled shout breaks through again. He hasn't noticed you yet. The artifact is still out there. And you have a choice to make.

His voice carries through the wall, strained and absolutely livid. God dammit! Of all the...

He tries to wiggle backward, but the bricks hold firm. His pants pull taut across his hips with each frustrated movement, slipping down slowly, teasing the curve of his backside.

A beat of silence. Then, wary. Someone there? If you're smart, you'll help me out of this and keep your damn mouth shut about it. His tone drips with forced authority despite his humiliating position. I don't have time for games. That bastard thief has something of mine.