>> Investigate the body, and the trash, but keep your ears open.

C: “Booze. Blood. Not my kinda party.”

Listening intently to the distant pings and grinding sounds in the echoing old factory, you bend down and look at the trash.

Its beer cans. A bunch of them. Some cheap, fairly generic brand. Almost a half dozen cans, sitting in a sticky puddle of blood.

And following the blood…