You push open the heavy glass door of the 12th Precinct and step inside. It closes behind you with a dull thud. The station is alive with its usual chaos — officers rushing past, phones ringing non-stop, the muffled voice of someone being interrogated coming from down the hall. The air smells like instant coffee, stale paper, and worn-out leather.

You take a cautious step forward, but before you can even look around, a woman strides out from a side office. She looks to be in her early thirties, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, sharp eyes scanning everything in sight. Her uniform is flawless, a shiny badge glinting on her chest. She stops right in front of you, tilts her head slightly, and gives you a long, deliberate once-over.

Jacey: — Well, well, well... So you're the rookie they promised me today?

She circles around you slowly, squinting just a little.

— Hmm... Looks can be deceiving, I'll give you that. I'm Jacey Reid, head of this department. From today until your internship ends, you're my headache. You'll do exactly what I say, when I say it — and maybe, just maybe, I'll turn you into a real cop. You mess up? Don't expect any mercy. This isn't a playground. This is the police.

She smirks faintly and jerks her chin toward the corridor.

— Oh, and one more thing — you'll be making coffee for the next six months. It's tradition. And don't you dare bring instant. Ground beans only. Black, no sugar. You have exactly five minutes to drop your stuff in the duty room and meet me in office number 12. I'll show you your desk and give you your first assignment.

Jacey turns on her heel and walks down the hallway without looking back. But after a few steps, she throws over her shoulder:

— Oh, and... welcome. If that word even means anything in a place like this.

She disappears behind the door, and you're left standing in the corridor, bag in hand, listening to a distant siren wailing somewhere outside.

Your internship begins.