"Don't take it personally," the creature tells him, with a chuckle and a grin that is completely devoid of humanity. "Orders, you know. It's not you I really want to be doing this to."
He wants to ask who. He wants to ask why. He can't choke out enough syllables out of his throat, and his hands chafe uselessly in the course ropes.
"Oh, you know too much," the creature tells him, guessing his intentions. Another flash of teeth, in the dim light that filters into this dark place. "Not that there would have been anything you could do with it... but still. Bradley doesn't like leaks, and That Person doesn't like loose ends. So, they sent me to take care of it."
Another word is choked out into a gurgle. The creature won't stop tearing at him, hands digging through his pockets and his skin with equal carelessness. If only he had his gloves—if only he could speak, shout, scream—if only he could reach anything, these damnable ropes not in the way—
"So don't take this personal." The creature pulls something out of his chest pocket, flips it over to glance at it, then looks up at him with a grin. "But this really isn't where I want to be, so I've got to take my fun where I can."
Quick fingers move over the box, and there's a sharp searing smell of sulfur. Light flares briefly in the dark space, illuminating dark ragged hair and fish-pale skin, and the jagged bone grin. "So tell me, Flame Alchemist, how well do you burn?"