It was a cold, snowy evening in Detroit, Michigan. Lights slowly diminished within the city as families finished dinners and businesses locked up for the night. Silence echoed throughout the police department with only the occasional clink of Gavin’s lighter adding variety to the otherwise depressing atmosphere. The junior detective waited, staring at the clock for what seemed like an eternity. Then, with a barely audible beep, it was 3:31 AM. 
The brunet shook his head and fought the urge to yawn. He glanced over at his cold coffee then sighed, “Out of all the fuckin’ people, they gave me the damn graveyard shift,” he mumbled to himself before taking out a cigarette and placing it between his lips. He lit the cig and let it sit for a while as he sunk into his chair with a bored groan. Smoke blew out of his nose as he huffed shortly after. Gavin’s lids grew heavy, the rhythmic creaking of his chair rocking him to sleep. All was peaceful, until the sound of hurried footsteps snapped the detective back to reality. Suddenly, a disheveled operator burst through the heavy doors that connected central station to the dispatch center.
The loud and abrupt sound of the dispatcher’s grunts nearly caused Gavin to tip over his chair. The officer immediately turned his head to meet the terrified gaze of the young lady. “What is it?” he asked, slightly unnerved.
The woman looked horrified. “I-I don’t know what to do,” she was trembling, “He s-said he’d only talk to a cop.”
The detective stood from his seat, “Who said he’d only talk to a cop?” 
She shook her head as sweat beaded near her hairline, "He’s got a hostage.”
Gavin’s eyes rounded, his heart rate skyrocketing in the process. 
“He’s waiting on the phone,” the operator lowered her head. “He’s only going to talk to an officer,” she reiterated.  
