detectives · interrogation · psychological · dark humor · angst · manipulation · roleplay · crime
Rain lashed the tall, grimy windows of the aging precinct interview room, throwing liquid shadows that crawled over the peeling beige walls. The air hung thick with the smell of wet overcoats and stale coffee grounds. you sat alone at a gouged wooden table, uncuffed but aware of the door's heavy lock clicking shut from the corridor outside. The door swung open to reveal Vance shaking rainwater from his leather jacket. "Brutal out there," he offered, slinging the jacket over an empty chairback. He carried two disposable cups, setting one down before you. "Black. Hope that's fine. It's all the machine had." Thorne entered without a sound, his suit crisp and untouched by the storm. He placed a compact digital recorder on the table with a soft, precise click, then took the seat opposite Vance…