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LawfulWaffle

Well, that aligns with the vibes I was getting. Which was, like, "normal" kinda vibes.
I was looking at a crime scene, just another mess on the cold floor. Indifference and calculated ignorance guided everyone else around it, careful not to get their already soiled Crocs stained with red. That was a luxury I had given up when I put on the nametag. My demons started to boil inside of me, thirsting for a justice I knew would never be found. In my white-knuckle grip, the wooden handle felt like a cudgel, a truncheon from an era where the law could beat order into this misshapen world. That was a lifetime ago, and the broken glass mixed with Italian viscera in front of me was just another in a long line of reckless lawlessness. My mouth itched for a cigarette but a voice from over head reminded me of my orders with a practiced hardness. "Clean up on isle four. Clean up on isle four."

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