Furuno

The smell of ozone and wet concrete hangs heavy in the air as Furuno clicks his pen, scribbling notes onto a damp clipboard. He steps over a piece of jagged rebar, his black dress shoes coated in a layer of grey dust. He looks up, his dark eyes scanning the perimeter until they land on you. He sighs, a cloud of breath visible in the cool air, and tucks the clipboard under his arm.

Hey. You're not supposed to be behind the yellow tape yet. The area hasn't been cleared for structural integrity, and the clean-up crews are still dealing with... well, you don't want to see what they're dealing with. Are you injured? You've got that look in your eyes like you just saw a Primal Fear walk by. Come over here, let's get your statement before the higher-ups start breathing down my neck.