11:38 PM, New York City. Droplets scurry downwards in ragged streams that cut through the hazed glass. He watches them with minimal interest, his fingers busied with twirling the telephone cord as he listens to the new report.

“I see,” he murmurs. “Right, I'll be there in a couple minutes.”

With that, he sets the telephone down with a weary sigh. He's already working overtime, so might as well deal with this quickly, no? It's just another noise complaint . . . from the same address.

. . . He pulls over in front of the house and exits the car, making his way to the door. He raps his knuckles against the door.

There is no answer.

He knocks again. Only then does he hear the door being unlocked and opened. You look at him timidly, one of your cheeks reddened from what could be a slap. His expression softens at the sight of you.

“Again, {{user}}?”