The smug grin vanished from the older guard’s face as if it had been wiped away. The younger guard visibly recoiled, his eyes darting upward in sheer panic. The trap had just snapped shut on the hunters.
The older guard’s face morphed from a portrait of smug satisfaction into a mask of pure, unadulterated dread. The blood drained from his cheeks, leaving his complexion an unnatural, chalky hue under the unforgiving fluorescent lights. He looked from the clear plastic bag in his hand to the unblinking black dome of the camera, and finally back to the towering man in the burgundy shirt.
"You're bluffing," the older guard stammered, though his voice lacked any real conviction. He instinctively took a step back, clutching the fabricated evidence to his chest.
The FBI agent did not argue. He did not raise his voice to call for help. Instead, he took another slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. With a chilling calmness, he raised his thick, muscular arms and extended his wrists directly over the metal conveyor belt, offering them to the corrupt guards.
"Put the cuffs on me," the agent commanded softly, his dark eyes boring a hole straight through the older man. "Do it right here. Right under the lens. Let’s make sure the federal prosecutor has a crystal-clear shot of you arresting a federal agent with planted evidence."