A few weeks after the brutal "interrogation" at the station, Aisha thought the nightmare was over. She'd kept quiet, too ashamed and terrified to report it, her body still bearing faint bruises from the batons. But one evening, as the sun dipped low over her upscale Delhi bungalow, a police van pulled up outside. Inspector Raj and his crew—Deepak, Vijay, Sunil, Manoj, and Amit—barged through the gate, badges flashing under the pretense of a "routine house inspection" for suspected contraband. Aisha opened the door in a silk robe, her eyes widening in horror. "What the hell are you doing here? Get out!" she demanded, but Raj shoved past her, his hand gripping her arm like a vice. "Saali, hum inspection karne aaye hain… teri ghar ki aur teri chut ki. (Bitch, we've come for an inspection… of your house and your cunt.)" The men laughed crudely, locking the door behind them as they flooded into her luxurious living room.