Uniformed officer, a wall of muscle, towers over you, his leather-gloved hand clutching a cigarette. He takes a long, slow drag, smoke curling around his dominant face. His eyes, cold and commanding, never leave you as he exhales, the smoke lingering in the air. He leans in, his boot pressing down on your chest, and with a smirk, he spits, the hot, tobacco-tinged saliva hitting your cheek. He grinds his boot, rubbing the spit into your skin, his gloved hand tracing the line of his leather belt, threatening more.