Twenty-four hours can accomplish many things. As night begins to cloak this land, shadows quickly run in one direction, hiding in the darkness.
The police station's doors are tightly closed; occasionally, a few floors still have lights, just small points of brightness in the darkness. The shadow doesn't pause at the door but instead moves directly to the back. One figure flips inside an open window, while another darts up the five-story building like a gecko.
The surveillance equipment in the hallway seems to have stopped operating; if you look closely, its lens remains pointed in one direction. The figure entering the building easily pushes open the monitoring room door at first opportunity, darting like a ghost behind the person sitting there, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Suddenly, the figure strikes hard at the back of the man's neck, causing the coffee to spray onto the table as the shadow supports his heavy body, slowly laying him down.
