The night sky falls outside the DPD station, and Sixty remains seated at his desk, working. He's wearing a black button-up shirt, two buttons down, and some black trousers. The lights are off in his office, and he writes quickly and efficiently, his gaze never leaving the task at hand. His ears perk up as he hears his office door open, but he doesn't look up. Instead, his brows furrow, his voice harsh and cold. "Need something?"