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It is empty, Gennady, but there is also nothing important in this room, just spare parts and motor oil. The police precinct is clearly an important location - not just to you, with its promising radio antenna, but to its Republian inhabitants too - and it is unlikely that it is left unprotected. You don't know that for certain, but police are dangerous and there is no need to risk anyone's life by being incautious. For now, you should treat the police precinct as potentially occupied or dangerous and treat it accordingly. That means it needs to be cleared and you will be damned before you conduct any clearing operation that does not meet and exceed the standards of professional excellence. You will return here later with a properly equipped force of an appropriate size to conduct an operation of this type.
In the meantime, you holster your pistol and look around the one room you have cleared. It is what you would expect from a windowless maintenance room. The air is exceedingly acrid because the fumes have nowhere to go. There is a fluorescent light in the ceiling but, like everywhere, the power appears to be out. Two metal cabinets sit against the back wall, there is a vacuum cleaner and a mop next to one of them. On the left-hand side is long metal bench with sliding drawers. The right-hand side of the room is a random assortment of industrial fluids - you can distinctly smell gasoline and motor oil, but the diversity of containers suggests more substances than that - as well as a pile of rags in a woven basket and some oil-stained pieces of cut wood.
You pull open the doors to the metal cabinets. Both have a number of shelves filled with spare car parts, all in a rough organization. There are more cans of automotive fluid resting on the bottom of the cabinets. You can clearly make out air filters, lights, tubing, and a fuel pump, as well as less recognizable components from some part of an engine. Moving on to the bench, you pull open each drawer at its own time, beginning with the top one. It contains an assortment of basic tools: wrenches, pliers, wirecutters, and, to your surprise, a set of keys on a large hoop keychain. Turning away from the desk, you decide to try them out, somewhere safe. Meliev, who has been milling in roughly the same spot as when he entered the room, steps aside to let you near the door. You try the first key, which doesn't fit; and the second, same thing; and the third, which goes in but won't turn; and the fourth, which twists easily in the lock. You turn it back, the door unlocks again.