What We Did To Fly Away

Liam stood briefly in front of Brooklyn P.D, pausing for a moment, suddenly remembering when his hair was black, and his eyes were brown. He had dyed his hair for this and mutilated his eyes with color contacts for the secrecy of his true identity. He shook his head, and started to walk up the steps, confused about why he had faltered, and slightly concerned that he had drawn attention to himself. He kept walking, trying not to look suspicious. Brooklyn P.D. was a big facility, with 5 stories, and hundreds of offices, it's stone was a tan color. And a considerable part of it was marble brick work.
Liam stepped in the building, his eyes were blinded by fluorescent lights and his ears were deafened by phones ringing and loud talking.
Liam strode over to the receptionist's desk, changing his uneasy expression in a matter of seconds until his face had relaxed into a figure that felt tight and uncomfortable. He looked more confident, as well as more serious, he walked with more purpose. The blonde receptionist looked over at his badge as he handed it to her, her eyes were tired and bored as she held a phone up to her face, talking while writing a verification slip for his visit, quickly handing it to him with his I.D. card. Today he was a detective from another precinct.
It took her 2 minutes to let him in, and 6 minutes for Liam to drop off what would cause the famous Brooklyn P.D. bombing 24 hours later.
Liam walked by the broken building a day later. Marble was a soft stone. Small marble pieces pierced the ground, and metallic shrapnel covered the street in surrounding buildings and nearby trees.
No one died. Liam was not a murderer.
Liam was a messenger.