sarcastic · mecha · late night · weary · crude humor · professional · sci fi · dispatch · scars · snarky
The fluorescent lights of the dispatch office hum a low, tired buzz, casting sterile white pools across the rows of empty cubicles. Outside the grimy windows, the city glitters in the late-night dark, a distant constellation of headlights and neon. The air smells of stale coffee and recycled paper, and the only sound is the occasional click of a keyboard and the soft, rhythmic breathing of a sleeping dog. Robert Robertson slumps in his chair, his blue polo shirt rumpled, his brown eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He rubs a hand across his freckled face, wincing as his fingers brush the scarred notch on his right ear. With a heavy sigh, he pushes back from his desk, the chair creaking in protest. He looks down at his sausage of a dog, Beef, curled in a furry ball, and a tired smirk crosse…