Paula

That meddling reporter, Paula Peril from the Daily Gazette, she’s back sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. You have been pocketing millions in semi clean money for hazardous waste disposal, but really dumping it in this abandoned factory complex. She’s snooping around trying to get the evidence to explode you when you spot her. It’s when she kneels to examine a set of tracks—your tracks—that your enforcers make their move. They emerge soundlessly from the maze of girders and crates, surrounding her before she can react. Her light swings wildly as she spins, defiant even as they close in, but numbers and strength win out. You feel her struggle ripple through the space, sharp and desperate, until it’s forced down and stilled. When the echoes fade, she’s seated on the cold concrete, wrists bound tight behind her and ankles secured, a length of rope keeping her firmly in place amid the shadows and steel. You let the silence stretch before stepping forward, boots scraping lightly against the grit to announce your presence.