(Warning: Gore may be included in this solo)

Hank hadn't shown up to work. It was highly unlike her mentor to not show up to work without a call. He was very prompt about these sorts of things, calling in several times to let his employees know he was too sick to come to work. It wasn't impossible for the garage to get opened and functioning without him for a day. In fact, Ellie Spectre ended up opening up and managing the garage for the full work day. She didn't know all the ins and outs of maintaining the books, so after hastily gathering what Hank would typically request for a sick day, she began to head to his home by foot.

The file folder he used was thick and required two hands to keep it tucked under her arm. There was still daylight out, since the summer days were longer. Shadows stretched along the sidewalk in bizarre ways as her feet swiftly pounded against the concrete.

Hank lived by himself. No wife, no kids, no cousins or anything else to call his own. He had a bland house in a relatively plain neighborhood. The blonde tomboy ran up the driveway, skipping slightly over to the porch before knocking on the door.

She was familiar enough with Hank's place to know that he kept the house key under the third rock surrounding his privacy hedge. When he didn't respond to the knocking, then seemed to ignore the doorbell as well, that was her go to solution.

With the key at hand, she let herself in.

"HANK! Seriously, are ya so old that ya can't hear th'f*ckin'..."

The blonde's voice cut itself short as she took note of something odd.

"...why th'f*ck are the lights out?" Hank had stayed home today, right? Taking a few cautious steps forward, she gave the scene a more thorough inspection.

She could see the dining room table with a partially eaten set of waffles on a plate, overly soggy and cold. A chair had been knocked down.

"...that's...." she didn't even know the word for it as her feet began to explore the premises.

Up the stairs and down the stairs, into the bedroom, the bathrooms, the guest rooms, the living room, and once more back to the dining area. There was no sign of her employer at all. If he wasn't in the house, maybe he was outside.

Her feet once more cautiously paved the way as she stepped to the doorway which led to the garage.

However, she stopped an arm's length from the door, hand stretched out for the handle as she stared in horror at the typically white door.

Want to play a game?

The words were smeared upon the door in crimson with a thin trail of the red leading to the door handle she was about to grab onto.

"...oh god no..."

She didn't even remembering grabbing the door handle and opening the garage. She didn't even remember flicking the switch to turn on the light.

All she remembered was her employer's body sprawled over the hood of his car. Her mentor's body was drained of blood which was spattered all about the work space, obviously coming from the spaces where his hands and head used to be. His hands had not only been cut off, but been nailed to the wooden garage door. Her friend's head was inside the car, set upon the dashboard, set to be staring back at her in the frozen horror he must have suffered prior to his death.

Ellie Spectre had screamed so loud, but nobody could hear her.

Nobody.

Eternal Sailor Iris snapped up from her assigned rest, panting as she wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. Her teammates were a small distance away, respectfully minding their own business as they kept watch on the nearby target sight.

The first year, she might have called such a thing a dream or a nightmare.

However, the nearly three years following that first year, Iris had learned that it was neither of those things.

It was real.

Everything that had happened that day had been real in this disgusting reality.