Duality;Solaris Vol. 1

Interlude I

Amongst the buzzing fluorescent lights, through the smoke-soaked room, sits a frazzled man at his desk. Messy with files and crumpled papers, stacking said mediocre desk to the brim around his planted elbows. The man, ruffled and unkept, is leaning over the desk as his hands hold tight upon his heavy head. Slicing through the blond and brown hair encompassing them, his fingers fluff and entangle themselves with his troubled thoughts. Behind him—beyond the evidence board—sits a branded ashtray clasping the last embers of the cigarette inside it. The toxicating aroma escaping from it's dying stint, coating the room with the smoke's dimming companionship. There sits an obsessed man.

The chill of the office room clouds in comparison to lighting of the next cigarette. Another from the department—equally as annoyed, if not agitated—croaks her way out to punch in her overtime. Neither pay much attention to the other, time apart being what they secretly desire; after a long day, them both wanting nothing more than isolated distractions. Free at last for all underneath, yet the case still lies open— waiting until the next day all over again. The final underling having taken their leave, a gaping hole is left apparent— the room's singular door left ajar. This office room small enough to get under your skin, the cluster of four other work desks wasn't going to help matters— regardless of how empty they currently are. Contemplations ruminate wildly as the silence beckons this lull. The shadow of the board casts a heavy toll upon the remaining inhabiter. A conundrum lacking it's resolution.

In a kick of a hum, the building's aging a/c unit flickers on. With a gust of aggressive air and a grasp of an ajar door, the silence lurks once more. Giddy as he may, a new guy whips the door open wide. Holding a pudding cup in one hand and a wooden utensil in the other, the stylish officer leans against side where the hinges of the office room's door lie.

     Dressed to impress or for condolences, him being decked out in full decorative police garbs was to little fanfare. The officer taking a minute or two to glance at the man at his desk before breaking into a subdued snaky smile. A smile extends with the way of his utensil hand as it tips the officer hat back across his long, rustic-colored hair. The quality of the hat's production notably audible with such a confident tap, almost procedural in a calling-card type of way. It being significant enough to the man at the desk to raise an eyebrow at hearing.

     In tune with the struggling hums of the a/c, one could swear that they could hear icy groans come from the man just before words begin their pageant.

And, with a playful point of the wooden utensil, the officer quips, "Rosy as ever, eh?"

As the words sang out of the officer's mouth, the man's hands fell from the grip they had upon his short hair and onto the desk. On a note of hollow thuds, the agitation colors his blunt question in return, "What do you want, captain?"

"C'mon, Zane. Can't a fun captain like me checkup on his detectives every once in awhile?", the captain answers. A tone openly heard as cheery, the undertone had definitely been mired with serious pressure from up above. The captain knew it, and so did detective Zane.

An uneasy bellowing circulates across the police station's ventilation system. Distracting to many others inhabiting the building currently, the two men inside the lonely, smoky office inherently realize the real purpose behind this impromptu chat. Focused squarely on the essentials that hang on the pin-up board behind the man at the desk, the a/c's ventilation hiccups are the least of their issues.

As the snaky smile transforms into a more profession etiquette, so does his focus of attention. In much of a walking contradiction to his near flamboyant air his stylized uniform presents, the restrained way his speech conveys importance is what sets him as the captain. Without wasting anymore of their short amount of time on sugarcoated pleasantries, the captain gets to the point of his visit. Speaking frankly, "Zane, catch me up to speed. What do we know now about these gruesome vagrant disappearances?"