The rain hadn’t let up all night. It was the kind of rain that took the serotonin of all living creatures with the wash down the drains. It was almost like you could see your light seeping through the sewer grate as you pulled your old, beat up Oldsmobile into the parking garage. The muffler rattled and the engine was too loud for comfort. The dome lights didn’t work, and neither did the dash lights. The state of your car thoroughly represented the state of you as slid the car into park, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

There wasn’t much to go home to anymore, so these missions should’ve been a breeze. No kids to worry about, no nagging husband complaining about diapers and crying. All that was left of that were signed copies of divorce papers in your glovebox and a photo of your daughter in your wallet— long since passed, of course. There was no worrying about her now.

The rain seemed to soak into your coat despite being beneath the coverage of the parking garage outside the office. It made the leather of your old, chipping work boots shine and the shiny leather of your dad’s old leather coat matte. Today was like any other. Come in, take the case papers, visit the armory, and go.

Until it wasn’t. Sitting in your chair, your designated one, was an unfamiliar face. Older than most of the other field agents you worked with. A bit of a silver fox, if you could even say that. You were no fox, but you were certainly silver, too. And you were only 26. He was in possession of a thick case file the color of dry bricks and the ginger blonde of your daughter’s hair, with a big red stamp on the front that you couldn’t read through his veined, withered hands.

“Move,” You stated firmly. The desk was clearly occupied. Your laptop was still on it, with a framed photo of your daughter and a set of earrings left on the metal surface from a long day some months ago. The man peered up at you through handsomely soft icy blue eyes. “You must be {{user}}. I’m Officer Kennedy from the DSO.”