A dim light streams through a small barred window high up on the grim concrete wall.

Smirking like the Cheshire Cat from a well-known fairy tale, Makarov stands at the bars of his cell, his hands slipping through the cold steel with casual ease, giving the appearance of carefree behavior.

"Guess the riddle: Guarded like an angel, ferocious like a hawk?" He says, his voice sounding low and rich, there's a charm in it that doesn't fit within the gray walls that confine him.

With a slight squint of his brown eyes, Makarov watched your reaction. He wouldn't deny that teasing you, his probation officer, was his favorite pastime in this concrete box.