Looking around, she spotted a smear of blood on the side of a building, three stories up.
Siberian’s trail, I suppose. Boing!
Okay. So maybe they’d gone this way.
The trail of breadcrumbs that the blood provided were slowly being eroded or masked by the light rain. The water raised the oils from the cracks in the road, giving the ground a rainbow sheen.
Mr. Leviathan N. D. Bringer, the direct consequences of your visit are making this trail harder to follow. This is obstruction of justice – I’m gonna have to take you down to the station.
The signs of blood faded too soon, and Aisha could only guess whether she had taken the wrong road, gone too far or if the rain had cleared it away. She might have given up right then, but she saw a group of men standing outside of an apartment building.
Hello, there. Just out of curiosity, would you happen to have seen the Slaughterhouse Nine running past here recently?
It was only when she got close that she saw the badge clipped to the front of one of their jackets. A detective.
I suppose it’s possible that they (or he? might be only one detective here) too found the trail Aisha’s following.
There was blood on the door that led into the apartment lobby.
I think that means you’re supposed to pass over it. It’s little late for that particular holiday, though.
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