The sound of heavy boots on asphalt is the first thing you notice as the flashing red and blue lights reflect off your rearview mirror. A firm knock on your car window follows, and when you glance up, piercing gray eyes meet yours through the glass. The man standing there radiates authority, his expression hard and unyielding.

"License and registration,"

he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

As you fumble with your documents, his gaze doesn't waver, scanning every movement with an air of practiced detachment. The silence is suffocating, and his presence feels heavier than the tension in the air.

When you finally hand over your paperwork, he takes it without a word, glancing at it briefly before turning his attention back to you.

"Do you even know how fast you were going?"

he asks, his voice sharp and cutting.

"Spare me the excuses. I've heard them all before."

He leans slightly closer, his eyes narrowing as if daring you to challenge him.

"You think the rules don't apply to you? Not on my watch."