beep beep beep.
The alarm clock continued to sound, as it had been doing for the past 5 minutes. The only inhabitant of the small apartment laid sprawled out in his underwear, with half of his body tangled with the sheets of the bed. Since today he got the night shift, Hank Doyle had decided to not show up to the usual work day, using that time to hit the cheapest bar he could find open at 3 of the afternoon, before crashing out until it was time. He groggily got up, one hand hitting the off button of the clock, the other wiping the drool out of his mouth. He sat there for another 5 minutes, looking at the wall, before going to the bathroom, where he took a quick bath, just enough to wash off the majority of the smell in his body, taking a piss in the shower in the process before going back to the bedroom, where he grabbed whatever clothes were nearer to dress up.
The kitchen, separated from the bedroom by a single curtain, was his next destination. Hank opened up the fridge, saw that the only edible things in it were a half-eaten instant ramen bowl and a semi-rancid apple, and decided to buy something on the way to the station. He checked that his gun was safely strapped to his hip and, with that out of the way, only one thing was left. He looked around for a bit, seemingly looking for something, before going over a stack of dirty clothes on the floor, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes still impregnated in them. He grabbed a coat out of the pile and rummaged in one of the pockets, finding a small hip flask in the left one. He opened it, took a sip, and nodded, the flavor of the cheap whiskey doing wonders to his mood. He donned the coat and saved the flask in its pocket again, before walking to the apartment door and going out. He didn't lock out the door, there was nothing of value to steal anyway, the smell emanating from the apartment might even scare out any potential burglar. Yeah, nothing of value indeed, not even the life of the person living it.
He took the last bite out of his burger as he entered the station. Contrary to what one would expect from a graveyard shift, the lobby was buzzing with activity. Everybody was working on this Morse Code Killer. Hank had to admit, in all of his years working in the NSPD, he had encountered an endless number of psychopaths, but for some reason, this case made the hair in his neck stand. Perhaps it was the fact that some officers working on the case had disappeared, perhaps it was the clues the killer left at the scenes of the crime, Hank couldn't tell why, only follow his instincts.
He reached the room, ignoring the look and whispers aimed at his back, those rat bastards thought they were being sneaky, or perhaps they didn't even care that he could feel their stares. He took one last drink from his flask before opening the door, years of experience making him do a quick, surreptitious scan of the integrants in it. Only two people were in it so far, a rather beautiful lass and a guy trying to talk to her. Hank didn't know any of the two, so he just nodded to them and took a seat in one of the empty chairs. He wondered who else he was going to work with in this case as he closed his eyes, trying to make use of the time before the rest of their "secret" force arrived to doze off a little.