"I really wish you'd reconsider, my dear." Napoleon appealed nervously as he edged as far from his captor as his restraints would allow—which wasn't very far.
"No chance, Monsieur Solo." Océane replied. Brandishing her weapon expertly, she fluidly slashed one of his neatly manicured hands. Napoleon swore vociferously.
Despite his alarm at the uncharacteristic outburst, and even as he interiorly winced upon realizing Océane was coming for him next, Illya's mouth twisted into a wry smile. He had to hand it to THRUSH—using paper cuts to intimidate captured U.N.C.L.E. agents was nothing short of a stroke of genius.
