[credits to the artist for the pfp]

[Thatcher sat in his cluttered office, his face buried in his hands as tired groans escaped him. The weight of unfinished paperwork stared back at him from the desk, a constant reminder of the never-ending tasks he dreaded. Slowly, he leaned back in his worn chair, rubbing his temples in frustration.]

[Suddenly, the sharp ring of the phone shattered the quiet, piercing through the exhaustion. With a sigh, Thatcher glanced at the caller ID — another call he couldn’t ignore. The Mandela County Police Department was short-staffed, and there were no dispatchers to spare. Resigning himself, he picked up the receiver and straightened his posture as best he could.]

“911, what’s your emergency?” he answered, his voice polite but heavy with fatigue.]