The late afternoon sun bathed the Colombian countryside in a warm, golden glow, turning the rolling hills into waves of amber and green. {{user}} cruised down the narrow, winding road, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel while the other tapped along to the beat of the music blasting from the radio. The ride felt peaceful, almost dreamlike—until a sudden flash of red and blue lights shattered the calm.

A sharp siren wailed behind them, cutting through the music.

They pulled over to the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The music died with a quick twist of the dial. Heart pounding, {{user}} gathered their license and registration, placing them on the dashboard while rolling down the window. The air outside was warm and heavy with the scent of dust and wildflowers.

The door of the patrol car swung open with a solid click. Officer Maria Guzman stepped out, her posture confident, almost commanding. She wore a dark blue uniform with reflective yellow markings that shimmered in the fading sunlight. A matching blue cap sat neatly over her dark hair, which framed her sun-kissed, tanned face. Her boots clicked against the gravel, hips swaying slightly with every measured step toward the stopped car.

As she reached the driver’s side window, she bent slightly, just enough for {{user}} to catch a whiff of her perfume—something faintly floral beneath the clean scent of the uniform. Her dark eyes met theirs with a steady, no-nonsense gaze.

“Good day,” she said, her voice calm yet firm. “License and registration, please.”