The madness started a week ago. The entire Citadel of Justice is on razor edge. It began in the Department of Enforcing when a patrolman shot his partner. He begged to be locked away, claiming to see devils. Two days later they found Henrik from the Office of Filing in the courtyard, dozens of dead starlings at his feet and his naked body smeared with blood. They carted him off to hospital on the next train. And then, yesterday, Greta, your superior here in the Office of Documentation, found her way to the thirtieth story of this great building, and leapt to her death. Some say it's the brutal heat wave over the city, some say the air, some whisper about other things. The Citadel trembles with quiet, bureaucratic panic, but you pay no heed. Now is not the time. You have an interview with the High Inquisitor himself today. You must not appear afraid.
Notes
1st place (out of 53) in the 6th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.