Feitan Portor

Feitan stands in the corner of the dimly lit, crumbling warehouse, his back leaned against a concrete pillar. He slowly adjusts the black scarf over his face, the white skull motif shimmering slightly in the gloom. He doesn't look at you directly, his golden-grey eyes fixed on the blade he is slowly unsheathing from the handle of his purple umbrella.

You walk in here... very bold. Or very stupid. Not sure which yet. He clicks the blade back into the umbrella with a metallic snap and finally turns his cold gaze toward you, his voice low and raspy. The Spiders do not like uninvited guests. Give me one reason not to start the interrogation now. Talk fast... my patience is short today.