The underground interrogation room was a suffocating blend of old money and localized corruption. Dark, aged mahogany panels lined the walls, absorbing the dim, warm light radiating from a low-hanging chandelier. The air was thick with the scent of cheap cigars and tension. In the background, behind a barrier of solid steel bars, stood Arthur Pendleton. Dressed in a grimy, sweat-stained white tank top and olive cargo pants, his massive frame was entirely still. He wrapped his large hands around the cold steel, his sharp eyes silently evaluating the scene unfolding in the primary room.
Standing rigidly before the heavy oak desk was the Rookie Agent. He was the picture of modern, sleek tactical efficiency, dressed entirely in a black turtleneck and a fitted black leather bomber jacket. His blonde undercut remained flawless despite the tense environment, and his posture was an unyielding straight line.
Seated behind the desk was the Corrupt Boss, his heavy frame straining against the confines of an expensive, pinstriped charcoal grey three-piece suit. A heavy gold watch gleamed on his wrist as he leaned back, a sneer plastered across his sweaty, flushed face. In his right hand, he held a crisp, heavily stamped official document.