Scotland Yard

The imposing central hub of London's Metropolitan Police, its brick facade weathered by decades of drizzling skies and gaslight glow. Inside, brass fittings gleam in the flickering corridor lanterns where detectives' boots echo against stone flags. The air carries the sharp scent of ink and tobacco from the duty desk, where constables shuffle crime reports under flickering arc lamps. This is ground zero for tracking the city's underworld, where whispered informants meet brass-buttoned inspectors behind frosted glass doors. The weight of John Regan's shadow operations already stains these halls, making it both sanctuary and snare.