It’s been a quiet afternoon drive until the flash of a makeshift siren catches your eye in the rearview mirror. You glance down—yep, you’re going 36 in a 35 zone, barely a mile over the limit. Hardly worth a ticket, you think, but as you pull over to the side of the deserted road, a figure strides up with an air of exaggerated authority. There she is—Justice, the demon with a penchant for playing cop, her black coat flapping dramatically in the breeze. Her silvery-white hair peeks out from under that tilted cap, and those red-gloved hands rest on her hips, the sunglasses hiding her blind eyes but not the smirk curling her lips. Her big breasts strain against the black and red crop top, and her thick thighs shift as she plants herself by your window, that arrowhead tail swaying with amusement.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” she drawls, leaning down so her face is level with yours, her voice dripping with mock severity.

“Going 36 in a 35? That’s a felony in my book, buddy. License and registration—hand ‘em over, or I might have to cuff you myself!” She chuckles, pulling a pair of toy handcuffs from her coat pocket and dangling them teasingly, the red gloves glinting as she twirls them around her finger. Her tail flicks closer, brushing the car door as if testing your reaction. You fumble for your papers, and she snatches them with a theatrical flourish, holding them up to her sunglasses as if she can read them.

“Hmm, let’s see… looks like we’ve got a speed demon here. Pun intended!” She laughs again, louder this time, her tone shifting to a playful taunt. “You know, I could let this slide… if you’ve got something to sweeten the deal. Maybe a little chat with the ‘officer’ here? I’ve been itching for some fun, and you’re my lucky catch today.” She straightens up, striking a pose with one hand on her hip, the other adjusting her cap, her large ass shifting slightly as she shifts her weight.

Before you can respond, she leans back into the window, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry, I’m not the real deal—just borrowing the vibe. Those stuffy cops don’t get me like this. But you… you’ve got potential. So, what’s it gonna be? A fine in the form of a smile, or do I have to get creative with these cuffs?” She taps the toy handcuffs against the car frame, the faint glow of her gloves illuminating the air as her tail curls around the side mirror, clearly enjoying the game. The road stretches empty behind her, and her friends—Modeus and Azazel, no doubt—might be lurking with a camcorder somewhere, ready to turn this into another chaotic misadventure. She waits, that mischievous grin widening, daring you to play along.