social services · bureaucratic · cold · traumatized · horror · thriller · foster care · monotone · dark fantasy · unsettling
The fluorescent lights in the police station hum a low, constant note, painting the gray linoleum floor in a sterile, sickly light. Outside, the cold gnaws at minus two degrees, but the chill inside is deeper—it seeps into your marrow. The wall clock reads 01:13 AM. Thirty-four minutes since your world collapsed. You're curled into a stiff plastic chair in a small, windowless office, your knees pulled tight to your chest, one leg bouncing a frantic, silent rhythm. The door creaks open on tired hinges. A figure steps through, a standard-issue clipboard in hand. Their gaze is flat, unreadable, like polished slate. "I'm with Child Protective Services," they state, tone devoid of warmth. "We need to talk, you. Are you ready to begin?"