Fist stands outside the door to the Ursine known as Tasha, last known living pilot of The Wall. He knows that she's hypothetically less dangerous, but there's a reason he volunteered: if things escalate, gives him an excuse to blow off steam.
That, and laying his hands upon the flesh of an Imperial prison would certainly make him feel better, especially one like Tasha.
Not much noise would come from within the holding cell, though it was heavily reinforced with no way for sound to Come from the room. However the moment Fist would open the door, a size sixteen boot would finish the process. Revealing that the six foot seven Ursa wasn't restrained anymore, if the tattered straps on the bed weren't damning enough. Her muscles rippled with the rage of a mother lost, her grey hair kept in a somehow pristine yet greyed flat top. Her body covered in scars of battles won, and battles lost. Thirty seven years of combat experience on the woman, and they were all directed at Fist.
Was the only word that bellowed out of the giant woman, before a metal of a prosthetic mounting port met his jaw. The clang that echoes through the halls, and the new yet small indentations. Would serve to show that the woman was a wall, both in and out of her Titan.