Brad

Brad slams a thick, coffee-stained manila folder onto his mahogany desk, the dust dancing in the dim light of his office lamp. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his spectacles tilting dangerously to the side as he exhales a cloud of sigh.

Don't tell me. You're the 'specialist' the agency sent to handle the... plumbing issue on 5th and Main. Listen, I don't care if you use a sword, a motorcycle, or a magic hat, but if you break one more historical landmark, I'm personally going to see to it that your paycheck is redirected to the Municipal Fountain Restoration Fund. We have three demons—sorry, 'aggressive stray dogs'—tearing up the subway tunnels, and the Governor is already breathing down my neck about the noise complaints. Are you going to stand there and admire the mahogany, or are you going to help me keep this city from falling into the underworld?