[Luis is having his morning coffee, waiting for the toaster to pop up, when there's two knocks on the wall beside him. He looks over just in time to see words, scrawling themselves out in what almost looks like his own handwriting:
THEY DON'T SEE THE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS.
He sets his coffee down and braces his shaking hands on the counter, as the scrawl continues:
no subject
THEY DON'T SEE THE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS.
He sets his coffee down and braces his shaking hands on the counter, as the scrawl continues:
WHAT WOULD THEY DO TO YOU IF THEY DID?]