World's Greatest Detective

The police department was a bastion of lethargy, a temple of torpor. The officers lounged in their chairs, their eyes glazed over like donuts under the fluorescent lights. The air was thick with the scent of stagnation, the only movement the occasional twitch of a finger hovering over a coffee cup.

In the corner, a lone detective slumped over his desk, his eyes fixed on a cold cup of coffee, his mind as stale as the brew. The faint hum of the station's fluorescent lights seemed to lull him deeper into his coma-like state. Papers piled high on desks, forgotten case files scattered like fallen leaves, and the distant murmur of half-hearted conversations created a symphony of indifference. The phones rang, but no one bothered to answer. The radios crackled, but the officers simply turned down the volume. The world outside might as well have been on fire, for all they cared.