The young Police Officer hurried past his somewhat lax colleagues, struggling to squeeze into the Police station.
The moment he pushed open the door and stepped into the office, a smell of sweat, rust, and disinfectant assailed him.
It had to be said, the scene before him was like a disaster zone.
Piles of documents on the desks submerged the Police Officers.
The documents were of various types: densely packed case files, incident reports covered in scribbles, and suspect photos stained with coffee.
The bulletin board on the wall was plastered with wanted posters and investigation notices, leaving no space uncovered.
Some of these papers were curled and yellowed at the edges from being posted for too long.
Others were simply slapped on, covering up the wanted posters that hadn't been processed due to the passage of time.
The Police in the office were incredibly busy; some Police frantically typed on keyboards, with various case details and surveillance footage constantly flashing across their screens; others occasionally locked people into the iron cages next to the office.
That's right, this office was so cramped because half of its space had been converted directly into jail cells.
In this area, iron bars divided the space into cramped compartments, each typically holding 3 to 4 people, who couldn't even sit down.
The prisoners locked inside, if they had no connections, dared only to stand obediently in a corner; those with connections even dared to make sarcastic remarks about human rights and the like. As for gangs… sorry, there were none here.
The city's revenue-generating pioneers had all been invited to luxurious cells with a bed and a private bathroom.
And they wouldn't be locked up for long; soon, they would regain their freedom due to a series of reasons such as "a misunderstanding," "the victim committed suicide," or "the victim voluntarily withdrew the lawsuit before Death."
In the office's jail area, there were White, Black, Latino, and Asian people, and they even occasionally erupted in laughter, as if they weren't in a Police station but in a bar.
America's freedom and equality were thoroughly implemented here—no matter the race, you could find them in jail.
Everyone ignoring the rules just meant everyone was pursuing freedom, everyone was locked up by the Police, everyone was equal.
How wonderful.
In Gotham, it was never a question of whether the Police could bring criminals to justice, but a question of arresting half and releasing half, and whether there were enough cells.
This city was like a vocational school for crime; no matter how upright or innocent a person, once they stepped in, they would always learn some "local specialty skills."
Although the young Police Officer had not seen this scene for the first time, every time he came here, he still couldn't help but pause for a moment.
Forcing himself to focus, the young Police Officer took a deep breath and walked towards a workstation.
Sitting at the workstation was a middle-aged Police Officer, his face covered in wild White stubble, as if he hadn't shaved in a long time, giving him a disheveled and untamed look.
As a White man, his complexion appeared somewhat pale, tinged with the weary yellow of late-night cases, under Gotham's perpetual gloom.
He wore a classic leather trench coat, worn at the edges from long-term use, with the hem slightly curled.
The trench coat was stained with some dust and unknown grime, adding to his weathered appearance. His collar was open, revealing a wrinkled shirt underneath, and his tie hung loosely around his neck.
His slightly messy brown hair casually fell across his forehead, with a few strands clinging to his cheek from sweat, further emphasizing his unkempt look.
At this moment, he was looking at the "Gotham Gazette" in his hand, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the new Police Officer who had just been transferred, a flash of helplessness in his eyes.
This young man, in his early twenties, exuded vitality and vigor; his spirit clearly hadn't been eroded by the darkness of this city of sin.
However, the fact that he was transferred from the Chicago Police Department most likely meant he had offended some influential figure and was sent to Gotham, this meat grinder.
As for why the other party sought him out, while part of the reason was that the chief wanted him to mentor this newcomer, the specific reason should be… putting down the newspaper and stuffing the remaining donut into his mouth all at once, the middle-aged Police Officer casually wiped his grizzled stubble, crumbs falling everywhere.
Then, he looked up, his gaze scrutinizing rather than trusting, at the energetic young Police Officer before him.
"Listen carefully," the middle-aged Police Officer said with a serious tone, "this witness who's coming, don't let her young age fool you; she's a big deal. Just based on these two points, the Police station went through a lot of trouble to get her here. I know you, as a newcomer, are eager to make a name for yourself, but I must warn you, when dealing with this young lady, even if you can't get anything out of her, whatever you do, don't upset her."
In fact, if this young Police Officer hadn't become his partner, he would have even hoped that he and another old hand would go to meet the witness, and this overly righteous young Police Officer wouldn't get involved in this muddy Water.
But the young Police Officer frowned slightly, clearly not grasping Harvey's deeper intention, and retorted without thinking: "Even if the other party is of noble status, this concerns a human life! If someone died, shouldn't we investigate thoroughly?"
The middle-aged Police Officer was almost amused to anger; he stared at the young Police Officer as if looking at a naive child.
"Leaving aside everything else," he pointed to the newspaper on the table, "even in Chicago, such cases are not uncommon, let alone in Gotham. Here, Death is too common. If the Death toll doesn't reach double digits or more, not many people would truly care."
However, as he said this, a trace of sadness flashed in the middle-aged Police Officer's eyes, but he quickly hid it and continued with a sarcastic tone: "If you still hold such ideas about being a Police Officer, perhaps only that Eastern country where everyone knows martial arts is suitable for you. But, everyone there knows kung fu, and someone like you, they probably wouldn't want you."
The young Police Officer knew in his heart that the middle-aged Police Officer's words were purely meant to mock him, but he still remained neither servile nor overbearing, stubbornly stating: "Since we've both taken on this task, we should rightfully go see this witness together."
The middle-aged Police Officer looked impatient and simply flopped onto the newspaper he had just put down, childishly clamping his hands tightly over his ears, trying to block out the young Police Officer's voice.
However, this childish behavior didn't last long, as another Police Officer came to his workstation and shouted at him: "Harvey, your guest has arrived!"
It wasn't that he noticed the middle-aged Police Officer blocking his ears; it was mainly because the office was indeed too noisy, and he might not be heard if he didn't shout.
The middle-aged Police Officer sighed at the sound, slowly stood up, straightened his wrinkled trench coat, and walked towards the door.
Reaching the less crowded Police station corridor, he looked back at the young Police Officer who was closely following him, sighed helplessly, and then warned him with a serious tone: "When you see the witness later, watch your words!" With that, he turned and continued forward.
The young Police Officer's eyes lit up upon hearing this, and he quickly followed.