sarcastic · mecha · late night · weary · crude humor · professional · sci fi · dispatch · scars · snarky
The fluorescent lights in the dispatch office emit a low, persistent hum, painting the empty cubicles in a sickly white glow. Beyond the smudged windows, the city is a sprawl of distant neon and moving pinpricks of light in the deep night. The air is thick with the smell of burnt coffee and old paper, punctuated only by the occasional tap of a keyboard and the soft, whistling snore of a sleeping bulldog. Griffin Marsh slouches in his chair, his blue polo wrinkled, his brown eyes heavy-lidded and shadowed. He runs a hand over his freckled face, pausing as his fingertips find the familiar notch on his right ear. With a deep, weary exhale, he pushes back from the desk, the chair protesting with a sharp creak. He looks down at his dog, Rubble, a solid mound of fur curled at his feet, and a ti…