The heavy steel door to the isolation wing groaned open, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Ethan walked alongside Miller, their footsteps echoing like hammer blows against the concrete floor. When they reached cell 4-B, Ethan stopped and peered through the small, reinforced observation slit.
Inside, Prosecutor Carter was unrecognizable. The man who once stood in expensive Italian suits, looking down on the world with a sneer, was now huddled on a thin cot. He was Haggard, his face covered in dark, blooming bruises and dried blood.
"He looks like he's had a rough first night. Did he trip on the way in?" Ethan said.
"Not exactly. Let's just say the boys had a lot of pent-up frustration to release," Miller said.
Ethan noticed a particularly nasty gash over Carter's eye. "You guys really went to town on him. I didn't think you cared that much about his legal policies," Ethan said.
