Police Station

The Police Station: The police station is located in the North-East part of downtown. It’s a huge skyscraper, angled inward and reaching high up into the fog. The beams are sleek-black and the windows are a dull hazed grey. The entrance is a steep staircase made of the same sleek-black material. The entrance is a set of large glass doors, hazed grey like the other windows. Above is a crimson banner with white lettering in an illegible language.
Stepping inside, the building is neither dark nor well-lit. Natural light seems to spill in from the several meter tall and quarter-meter wide grey windows despite their hazed surfaces. The flooring is a series of marble-white tiles, sending clear sounds of movement with every step. The ceiling of the entryway is vaulted, with pillars at all four corners. In the center is a circular desk with nobody behind it. There is the usual paperwork and clutter on the desks, but the rest of the room is sparse and practically empty. On the wall across from the entrance is a mural of a falcon spreading its wings, a tiny human corpse held between its talons. Across it is another crimson banner with more unreadable white text. There are two doorways, one to the left and one to the right.
The left door leads to an antechamber that has two more rooms. One is a locker-room. The temperature inside is warm, comparatively pleasant, a thick smell of stagnant water hangs in the air and there is a constant sound of dripping water. The lockers are a dull green and are lined up in long and perfectly straight lines, the ceiling extremely high above and the huge frosted windows still present. At the end of the line of lockers are three rusted showerheads, all of them dripping water, suspended from the wall and equally rusty drains below them. The smell is thickest here. The other room is an office, abandoned but with a single file sitting on the desk. Opening it reveals a report on a violent crime. There are crime scene photos of your own body, naked in bed, throat slit. There is a mugshot of yourself with heavy bags under your eyes. There is an autopsy report, dated three weeks old, confirming the cause of death as strangulation combined wit head-trauma. Beneath it is an envelope, drenched in gasoline. Opening it reveals a letter of illegible and unreadable newspaper headlines, cut and pasted onto a folded scrap of paper.
The right door, on the other hand, leads to a room with a single office cubicle and an elevator with brushed steel doors. It works and will come when called, small blood stains on the interior walls and a single bloodied tooth in the corner. The thirty buttons to go to other floors are all unlabeled and with no indicator for where they go. Inside the elevator, there is a distinct smell of smoke. Taking the elevator to any other floor will feel like being pulled up, sometimes left or right and rarely down, the elevator sometimes stopping, then suddenly whirring back to life with the sound of steel grinding against steel. From time to time, the light goes out and the elevator stops moving altogether with only a faint sound of labored breathing above the elevator to be heard. All other floors look identical, with single cubicles, arranged exactly the same as the first.
On the ground floor only, there is one other door in the cubicle room. It leads to narrow corridor with a series of stairs, the bottom completely dark, a red emergency light illuminating the first twenty steps or so. Going down, the light ahead will flick on and the one behind you will go out. The stairs begin to turn and spiral in various directions. At the bottom, there is a huge room with rows of iron bar jail cells on either side, faint red emergency lights illuminating everything until a single amber light illuminates two brick cells with white light spilling out from their glass-doors. All the iron bar cell doors are open. Inside some of the cells there are prisoner’s clothes ripped into pieces, bent iron bars, small pools of blood and very rarely a naked dead body. The cells at the end with brick walls and white light inside have firmly closed glass doors. Inside the one on the left is a small room with pure white walls, bright light and a man dressed in white reading, his back to the door. He won’t turn around, no matter what you do. In the cell on the right, there is an identical room, but it is a woman dressed in white instead.
At 7:35 AM, a swarm of Officers rush into the police station. Officers are incredibly fat humanoid, roughly 2 meters tall and have cut-out vertical slits going all the way down their face instead of eyes. They all wear nothing but a pair of extremely tight grey boxers. They have no arms and no stumps where they should be. They have no mouths, they have no nostrils or noses. Their skin is blackened and burnt and covered in slick oily muck. Every day, at 7:35, they arrive at the police station in huge packs, shoving and pressing against one another to get inside. The immediately turn left and enter the locker room. They mash themselves at one another to get to the showers at the end. For an hour, the showers run, sputtering water for the duration and Officers try desperately to stand under it, the oil gathering in pools as the drains try to keep up. Any fallen Officer is trampled in the confusion and struggle and many are often simply pressed so hard against the wall by the collective force of Officers that they slump onto the floor, blunt trauma proving lethal. At 8:35, the water stops and the Officers leave, shuffling and stumbling dejectedly, disappearing into the city and rarely seen anywhere but at the police station.
Being caught in the path of Officers is a death sentence. If you aren’t trampled, you will be crushed against the shower walls or between the swarm of bodies.
Typically, the dead Officers are devoured by Denizens and Lopers, oil and all, coughing, gagging and vomiting all the while. As a result, after 8:35, Denizens and Lopers tend to congregate at the police station locker room, but it is always empty just before dark.