The beginning of the hundred year war.

The pigs sound hungry. Above the oinks and the grunts you can hear your Associate screaming in the other room. The Don’s men have been working him over for a while now, but he hasn’t given up any names. The crisp crack of their knuckles across his face, again and again, a steady brutal rhythm, soon softens to a chorus of wet bloody thuds. Screaming gives way to begging. The sudden gunshot, a solitary flash under the door, startles you. They drag your Associate’s body off towards the expectant herd of swine at the end of the hall. Steady footsteps approach the room where you sit tied to a chair. The Don’s men have some questions for you, too.