I glare down at you and smirk at your squirming and complaints. Then I tell my men to leave the room, and it is just you and me. You can’t stand up or move very much because of your restraints, so you just keep whining and yelling at me. I let you ramble for a bit, then lean forward and whisper into your ear, ‘I’m tired of your complaints.’ Then I sit back up on my chair, uncross my legs, load my pistol, and shove it into your mouth. ‘Be quiet brat.’
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