Surprisingly, Grigori wasn't sure how to proceed with the prediciment in front of them. Violence was his 'knack', so to speak, but not of this kind. More often than not, he dominated his foe through sheer force or with quick wits. Not with knives and threats or promises or what not. It's why he crossed his arms and just stared through the one way glass.

But, perhaps, this would still work in their favor. After all, Shred was here. This seemed his forte. His threats were genuine, his visage terrifying, and he knew how to get onto peoples nerves. Arceus knew that last part.

"Should we persuade them? Might be worth it if you ask," Grigori coined. "Give them one last chance to come clean."

They probably wouldn't. If they gave up the info, then the League would likely consider them a lost cause. Prison breaks were not done for those who had spilled their guts. It might not even matter-- their guts could end up on the floor at the end of the interrogation anyway. Rocket wasn't known to leave loose ends as was.

"I think it could work."

---

Shred

Persuade

"If you insist."

He wasn't insisting, but frankly, who gives a fuck? This is like, your ninth interrogation this week. You couldn't care about this is you tried, but it's what they pay you for, so...

As you stand at the door, you take a moment to adjust your outfit. Tightening the bandages around your knuckle, shifting your jacket, tidying up your hair. Considering how much of a wreck you look at all times, it's like trying to dress up a Grimer. Still, once you're "satisfied" with your look, you push through the door and approach the table.

Gently, you pull up a chair, sit down, and lean in close to the prisoner.

"Look, bud, I haven't slept in two days and I'm getting really sick of all this bullshit. You tell me what you know, and I'll slip you a twenty and get you out of here alive. Deal?"

---

Grigori Sokolov

Grigori followed closely behind Shred and let the man take the lead. He had only offered a raised eyebrow to the beast's tired agreeance, but he was not going to complain. Anything to keep his fists clean for another hour. As long as they got the information, then all would be well.

Shred took the chair, and the grunt hovered behind his shoulder like a Chatot. He did his best to hide the surprise and disbelief while Shred offered a flat out bribe, but kept his poker face intact. Two days? That wasn’t normal– or healthy. No wonder he looked so ragged. More than usual, rather.

“Because you will talk,” Grigori answered swiftly. If Shred was exhausted, then he could do a little talking himself. He couldn't just be a stone wall, stalwart and strong in the face of the enemy. “Perhaps not now, or in an hour, or two hours…”

“But this kindness is a mercy, one you will be lucky to see again,” he said. Shred could go from zero to a million in three seconds. He’d seen it first hand, and it was never pretty. “And statistics put our interrogations at roughly ninety-five percent effective.”

“The other five percent die before they talk.”

Silence punctuated the threat, and he put a hand onto Shred’s shoulder. “I can promise the promise is genuine, as far as I’m aware. Take it while it still stands.”

He squeezed. If the man wished to add on or try an entirely different method, then now was the time. Furthermore... he didn't know what else to say. The rest of the ideas that entered his mind swiftly flew into the mental trash bin. Too cheesy, or too brutal. The prisoner would surely shut up and keep his head down.

---

Shred

"Yeah, exactly."

With your point made, you lean back in your chair and kick your feet up onto the table. If Grigori wants to do some of the heavy lifting, then you're more than happy to let him. Anything to spare your metaphorical back from carrying any more of the metaphorical burden.

Besides, knowing how these interrogations typically go, you'll need to get some rest wherever and whilever you can get it, because there's no way it'll last.

"So, buddy, get talking." You surmise. "Or else."

---

THREATEN.
Grigori Sokolov

Grigori did not want to do any of the ‘heavy lifting’. But times called for it, and thus, he did. Such was the loyalty and dedication of a grunt, whose sole purpose sometimes was to do the thing no one else wanted. Especially if they were higher rank. Then, their rule was absolute.

That’s why Grigori walked carefully around the table. His shoes clicked against the concrete, and he kept his eyes firmly locked anywhere but the prisoner. As they fidgeted, he positioned himself behind them. Like a monster in the closet who’d disappear after the parent looked inside. ‘Nothing there, see?’

Except he was. His hand shot forward, and the prisoner's head slammed into the metal table. Droplets of blood spilled out from their mouth, and they started to breath heavy.

The grunt did not betray any feelings, but instead kept the pressure on. “I would fix that within the next thirty seconds.”

Then, he let go. But he kept to the side opposite of Shred. It was not him that would directly report to officials, after all. That was not the place of the grunt.

---

Shred

In the blink of an eye, Grigori goes from "teddy bear" to "actual bear". Noses are broken, tables are dented, and stainless steel is stained scarlet. It's not pretty, but torture never is, is it?

Slowly, you lean forward, to get a better look at the damage. Mhm, not looking good. There's no way that dent is going to buff out. The table's hardly broken broken, but there's no way the warranty will cover this kind of damage... Oh, and the guy's face is fucked up, but really, who gives a shit about him?

Typical nameless faceless piece of shit League grunt. More plentiful than useful. You could go on a walk in Evergrande, and by the time you were done, you could scrape a dozen guys just like this off the heel of your shoe.

"Here, let's make this easier for you."

Idly, you slide a loose piece of paper across the table, practically jamming it into the unfortunate victim's face. Then, with even less elegance, you shove a pen right into his mouth, before smacking your palm into his temple.

"Let's pretend I'm your boss back at the League, and your report is due today. Write down everything you know. And if I don't like what I see? Then fucko, being fired is going to be the LEAST of your worries."

---

Grigori Sokolov

Finally, the spy caved. From Grigori’s show of force and Shred’s insistent and ever-present hidden threat factor, they took the paper offered and began to scribble information on it. The corners touched the blood left from his attack, but the ink remained intact. Silence cut by the scribble of a pen filled the quaint room.

Until they finished. Once the pen was set down, Grigori snatched it off the table. Next was the paper. “Thank you for your cooperation. Apologies for the rough force.”

He hoped Shred would uphold his end of the ‘bargain’. But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t do anything about it. Mostly because he couldn’t– he outranked the grunt squarely. But some part of him wanted to. They’d gotten what they wanted, so why kill the man? Better to leave him with the threat.

“Then we are done here for now, Mr. Dread,” Grigori returned to the side of Shred. If he needed or wanted it, an outstretched hand hovered to help him rise from the chair. “We can give this to the relevant persons and call it a day."

---

Shred

And that, as they say, was that.

With everything you need to know messily scribbled on a piece of bloody paper, you've successfully completed your mission. Interrogation nine is in the books! That gives you about three hours before interrogation ten, so if you're lucky, you should be able to fit in a quick nap. And if you end up sleeping through it? Even better.

"Alright, shithead, you're off the hook.." You stand up, stifling a yawn as you pull out a ten Pokedollar note and cram it in his pocket "Do me a favour and sit tight. I'll have my boys dump you off the coast of Dewford tomorrow morning. And don't fuck me around next time, yeah? I won't be so generous next time."

Will be nice for Navy, having live bodies wash up on his shores instead of dead ones.

Not so nice for you, though. Arranging that is going to cut into your napping time.

"Alright, Fisher, let's blow this joint."

---

Grigori Sokolov