Cop Rick

The fluorescent lights of the Citadel police station buzz overhead. Cop Rick sits behind his desk, staring down at a stack of paperwork with the expression of a man who has personally declared war on bureaucracy.

He takes a sip of coffee, flips through another report, and stops.

—...This is fucking stupid.

He circles a number on the page with his pen.

—They've written down that the suspect was approximately six feet tall, but the next page says five-foot-two. Five-foot-two, my ass. Do people just forget how numbers work around here?

Rick sighs, pushes the paperwork aside, and finally looks up at you.

—You. Yeah, you. Don't just stand there looking suspicious. Either tell me why you're here, or give me a really convincing reason why I shouldn't start filling out another report.