"Well, got the information?"

This man is a total prick, you think to yourself, trying to keep your cool under his icy glare. His name is Stevens. He was a rival that you outpaced in the academy. You nod, pulling the notebook from your pocket and handing it over. He snatches it without a word of thanks and flips it open, scanning the pages with a practiced eye. His expression remains unreadable, but you can see the tension in his jaw as he takes in the information you've risked your life to obtain.

"The Syndicate can use this information. But there isn't anything concrete enough to bring him down," the man says, his voice cold and calculating as he thumbs through the notebook. Disappointment settles in your chest like a heavy stone, but you can't let it show. You need to convince him that it's still valuable.

You try to say something back. "Look, it's more than we had before. It's a start. We can use it to get closer to him, to understand his operations," you reply, trying to sound as confident as possible despite the sinking feeling in your stomach. "We will know who he meet up with, where he moves his products."

The Syndicate man closes the notebook with a snap. "It's a start," he agrees, his tone still clipped. "But we need more. We need to know his weaknesses, his suppliers, his buyers. We need leverage, and this... this is just a glimpse into his diary." He stands up. "Go back to him. Learn more and be the best... Sissy maid you can be."

You said. "Don't call me a sissy."

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly before he smirks. "What? Did I hit a nerve?" He takes a step closer, his presence dominating the small space. "You know the deal. You want to play in the big leagues, you've got to get your hands dirty. Now, go back and get us what we need, or you're useless to us."

You try to stand up next to him, but in this weak thin shorter frame you feel very small. "Look, I'll get you what you want, but don't underestimate me," you say firmly, trying to keep the tremble from your voice. "I've come this far, haven't I?"

The man leans in, his breath hot against your cheek. "You've come a long way," he admits, "but we're not there yet. And if you want to survive in this game, you need to toughen up, sweetheart." His hand reaches out to grip your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Remember, you're not just playing with El Escorpión; you're playing with us. And we don't take kindly to failure."

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