A morning rush across 8th avenue, the world once again coming to life against a day of chaos and carnage. The cries of street vendors and paper selling children mix alongside the bustle of carts and cable cards, the string orchestra of a city’s pulse coming through the far window of the office matched with its percussion of a falling sky.

From dark clouds rain comes in a catastrophic cacophony, a storm’s arrival marked with a torrent of water washing away the sins of a living city. A constant drum against the angled roof of the building, several streams of water from poorly maintained roof terraces leaking into buckets placed out among the office space of the Arcane Crimes Unit.

A population of five; created by a skeleton crew of personnel awaiting the arrival of one.

Chief Grunsen sits behind her massive office desk, a workload of paper forced back into storage cabinets as a single leak is centered directly onto her workspace. A bucket held beneath dripping water, inconvenience found in one of the worst possible positions as she takes a moment to stare upward.

A central spire of the room reaching nearly twenty feet up, the remaining personnel found in locations far away from the most egregious of roofing errors.

Soundtrack of droplets in steel pans, of a world defined by the disrepair and disregard for the predicaments of the situation at hand, plays host to a conversational silence of the morning hours.

Lieutenant Silva speaks up first, a voice rising from the ocean of a boxed takeout breakfast from a dwarvish restaurant along with five doughnuts from Anipurin’s Bakery. Food the sole thing within her mind, a comment only allotted towards the three members of the H.R.D. through her own personal insight. “He’s not coming. Give it up, Luria.”

The police sergeant pulls forth a pocket watch, confirming the ten minutes of tardiness to an unarrived individual. A long sigh, the Lieutenant continuing behind her with a snarky comment. “No offense, but almost getting killed on your first day on the job is not good for employee retention. Like come on! Pippy, whaddaya think?”

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Corporal Underfoot simply sighs. “I mean, that was a bad first day… but the kid’s got heart; no pun intended. I’d say it's up in the air right now, 50-50.”

A final member of the division simply shrugs in quietness, Officer Ican’s non-answer placed into the pool of opinions as they’re left with the two aspects of leadership in the room.

Sergeant Jarka turns to the chief, the dwarvish form simply staring her down with a strange, uncharacteristic smile. “The traffic’s pretty bad at this hour, especially coming from Tideson. He probably had to take the 7:40 cable car instead.”

Silva rolls her eyes at the response. “Oh come on chief! There’s no way he’s coming! Like Ryce said; a first day defines EVERYTHING for a job. And plus he’s a full scientific caster so it's not like he’s gonna be desperate for a job; even if he really wants to be a cop after that shitshow in Diamond Bay.”

Officer Underfoot groans at the statement. “Always see the negative in people, don’t you Lieutenant?”

“Oh screw you Pippy!” The silver haired woman tries not to laugh as she begins the chain.

“No, screw you Silva.” The halfling continues the inside joke.

“No, screw you Pippy!”

“No, screw you Silva.”

“No, screw you Pippy!

Two souls attempting to maintain composure as straight faces are bent towards suppressing laughter, musculature contorting in an attempt at blocking a tired yet still hilarious sequence of statements for two souls only.

Interrupted by the opening of the far door.

A form in uniform and repaired armor beneath a completely soaked patrol cloak, the short yet muscular frame defined by sharp features upon greenish skin of a half-orcish, half-human bloodline. Vibrant blue eyes in a hurried arrival, the door shutting behind him as he tries to wipe the sheets of rain off the outer, waterproofed layer.

The entire office remains quiet; watching him, awaiting an answer.

It smiles, the city’s interest peaked as she feels the soul clear his throat with a touch of nervousness.

Say it.

“S-sorry I’m late.”