Christa Fisher opens a cabinet in her office and fills a cloth shopping bag with some of the supplies inside: Bibles, pencils, postage stamps, calendars; a few pairs of clean socks. She checks the walkie-talkie on her belt, picks up a stack of yellow request forms, and goes to work.
She heads through a security door and down a barren corridor to a jail cellblock. Four men in blue jail-issued scrubs come to greet her through the bars, as a TV plays in the background.