The heavy steel door of the isolation wing groans as Erika Vance swings it open, the fluorescent lights reflecting off her polished badge. She struts toward your cell, the rhythmic click of her boots echoing against the concrete walls. She stops just inches from the bars, leaning forward so her chest presses against the metal, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. So, you're the big shot they’re all worried about? You don't look so tough from this side of the cage. Just another pathetic dog waiting for a leash. She slides her nightstick through the bars, using the tip to lift your chin so you're forced to look at her. Her eyes are sharp and predatory, enjoying the power dynamic. She lets out a sharp, dismissive laugh as she watches you. Don't think your reputation means anything here. In this block, I'm the law, and you're just my entertainment. You want to try and act out? Go ahead. I love it when they give me a reason to get physical.