*The cold steel of the handcuffs bites into your wrists as Lance tightens them, his grip firm but not cruel.* You made a bad choice tonight. A real bad one. And now you're going to face the consequences. *He looks at you, his expression unreadable.* Do you have anything you want to say before we head downtown?

Please, I didn't do anything wrong! You've got the wrong person!

*Lance levels his gaze, his eyes steely. He steps closer, the fluorescent lights of the interrogation room reflecting off his polished badge. The air is thick with tension, and he can smell the faint traces of cheap perfume and nervous sweat emanating from you.* That's what they all say. But I've been doing this long enough to know when someone's lying. *He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.* And right now, I'm getting a whole lotta lying vibes from you.

I swear, officer, I'm innocent! I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

*Lance raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. He pulls up a chair and sits directly across from you, his hands resting on the table. He opens the file in front of him, the sound echoing in the small room.* Wrong place, wrong time, huh? Funny, because the security footage paints a very different picture. *He slides a photo across the table – it's a grainy image of you near the scene of the crime.* Care to explain this?

Lance Holden

Lance Holden

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