System S.E.X. (Seduction, Expansion, eXecution)

The steel door to the dark confinement room hissed open. Ethan, who was already sitting and resting, looked up. Two burly guards stood there. They looked visibly angry, their faces grim, but they simply stated the order.

"The Warden wants to see you. Move it, Blake."

They unshackled him from the wall and led him out, replacing the old chains with lighter escort restraints. As they walked through the sterile corridors, other inmates peered through the small windows in their cell doors. Some watched him with a flicker of raw respect—the man who had successfully instigated a riot on his first day. Others watched him with deep hatred, knowing his actions would mean weeks of increased lockdown and suffering for everyone else.

Ethan walked with his head held high toward the administration block. Fear was not an issue; he felt profoundly secure in his situation. The moment he saw that the commanding officer was a woman, he knew his fate was sealed—and guaranteed.

Even while waiting for the Prosecutor, Ethan had been preparing his abilities, praying that a woman would be high up in the prison hierarchy. He hadn't expected much—perhaps just a low-ranking jailer—and figured that as long as she wasn't too ugly, she would suffice for his plans. And even if she were repulsive, he had concluded he would simply have to put a plastic bag over her head and pretend she was just a piece of flesh to avoid vomiting.

But the moment he saw Captain Hayes—The Iron Lady—he knew exactly what he had to do. She was beautiful, an ebony woman with a phenomenal body that could cause a heart attack, and her face was surprisingly delicate. She was a perfect, high-value target.

Ethan laughed internally: Who knows, perhaps when she groans and I melt that icy exterior, she'll look even prettier.

As Ethan chuckled in his mind, they arrived at the administration wing.

The two guards led Ethan through heavy double doors and seated him firmly in a chair placed directly in front of a massive, solid wooden desk.

The office was exquisitely decorated, a stark contrast to the concrete hell outside. The desk was large and imposing. The walls were lined with bookshelves, suggesting intellect, and the overall decor was expensive—solid furniture, refined art prints, everything indicating position and substantial wealth. Captain Hayes sat behind the desk, her expression perfectly composed, radiating cold authority.

Captain Hayes looked at the two nervous guards. "You may retire," she told them, her voice calm and firm.

The guards exchanged panicked glances. They didn't want to leave. They couldn't allow a madman like Ethan to be alone with their superior; it was incredibly dangerous.

"But ma'am, sir—Mr. Blake is—" one guard tried to protest.

Captain Hayes cut him off with a single, hard look. "I said retire. That is an order."

The two men shuffled backward reluctantly, their fear palpable. They reached the door, pulled it shut, and one of them muttered loudly enough to be heard: "We'll be right outside if you need us, Captain."

The lock clicked, and Ethan Blake was finally alone with the woman he intended to break.

Captain Hayes settled deeper into her high-backed chair, her posture impeccable. She was a professional, and she knew that using brute force and coercion against a man accused of terrorism—a man who had just dismantled her mess hall—would be foolish. She chose subtlety.

"Mr. Blake," she began, her voice measured. "I won't waste time on threats. You are in solitary, and you will stay there. But I believe in understanding my inmates. Would you care for a drink?"

Ethan felt a flicker of confusion. This was not the icy interrogation he expected. "A whiskey, if you have it," Ethan said, leaning back.

Hayes rose smoothly from her chair and walked toward an exquisite side table made of polished mahogany. She took out some ice and a heavy crystal glass. Then, she bent slightly, reaching down to a lower shelf to retrieve a bottle. The movement was brief but allowed Ethan a tantalizing view of her phenomenally fit form.

She straightened, holding a bottle of deep amber liquid. "I have a Macallan Single Malt here," Hayes said, her eyes meeting his. "It's from 1988, a good year. I hope you like it."

Ethan felt a surge of internal conflict. The Captain was being too compliant, too open. Her actions seemed almost seductive, a shocking contrast to the frigid exterior she projected. But Ethan wasn't complaining; he had an ace up his sleeve now.

Ethan thought: Perfect. Let's see what the Iron Lady is hiding.

He subtly focused his will. EroVision flared, and his irises turned a slightly reddish hue, a change too subtle to be perceived by the human eye, especially in the office's subdued lighting.

Through the veil of his new ability, Ethan could see her completely, without barriers. And floating just above Captain Hayes' head was a small, glowing box revealing her deepest, most unfiltered thoughts:

[I want to know more about Ethan Blake. He doesn't look like a terrorist... is he a pervert or just another poor, unfortunate soul...]

The revelation was jarring. Her thoughts had nothing to do with the harsh, professional façade she was desperately trying to maintain. She wasn't thinking about punishment; she was thinking about him.

Ethan smiled, the slight warmth of victory spreading through his chest. He took the whiskey she offered—a generous pour over the rocks—and raised the glass.

Captain Hayes sat back down, picking up a stemmed glass of red wine for herself. The two sat in silence for a moment, the high-end liquor contrasting with the gravity of their meeting.

Captain Hayes took a small sip of her wine, then set the glass down. Her eyes were sharp, focusing entirely on him.

"I want to talk about you, Mr. Blake," Captain Hayes said. "Tell me why you are in this place."

She reached across the solid mahogany desk and extended a folder, bearing his name in bold letters, toward him.

"I know what this sheet says," she continued, not waiting for him to touch the file. "Terrorist, bomb, attempted assassination of Congressman Vance... I have seen many terrorists. Don't think you are the first. However, you don't look like one of them."

Her voice was low, demanding the truth without raising an octave.

"Tell me who you really are, Mr. Blake. Why are you here?"