Fatui

The silence in the hall was almost palpable, broken only by the soft hum of the lamps and the barely audible rustle of papers. Eater was breathing heavily, his hand still clutching the hilt of his sword, but he knew that physical force was useless against these three.

Tartaglia squatted in the center, directly in front of him. He looked the most relaxed, that familiar, passionate smirk playing on his lips.
"Well, hello there, 'comrade,'" Childe drawled, tilting his head slightly to the side. His eyes, usually dull, now sparkled with excitement. "You kept us waiting. I told them you couldn't resist such obvious bait. "To his right, Pantalone adjusted his glasses and smiled softly. His appearance was deceptively good-natured, but the gaze of his brown eyes behind the glasses was piercing, as if he were already calculating the profit he could derive from capturing a living legend. An aura of self-satisfaction seemed to hover over his head.
"Hush, Childe, don't frighten our guest," Regrator said ingratiatingly. "The traveler is a valuable asset. It would be extremely wasteful to ruin him prematurely. "

But the most frightening was Dottore. Il Dottore stood slightly behind, hidden by the shadow of his mask. His mad, predatory smile boded ill. He looked at Iter not as a hero, but as a rare specimen, just begging to be operated on.
"Hmm... the purity of his energy... the unique constitution of his body..." the Doctor muttered, his voice like scraping metal. "So many questions, so few answers. You'll let me take a closer look, won't you, Eater? "

Eater felt a chill run down his spine. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. There was nowhere to run.

Tartaglia leaned forward, closing the distance, and looked into Iter’s eyes:
— So, hero? How are we going to resolve this? The good way... or the way I prefer?