Investigating a crime scene.

The alley was slick with rain, every surface gleaming like glass. You moved carefully, eyes drawn to the body propped against the wall - arms limp, neck bent too far to be accidental. Blood painted a trail behind him, leading from deeper in the shadows. Whoever did this wanted him found.

Dazai crouched beside the corpse, gloved fingers brushing a bloodied cufflink half-buried in the mud. His jaw was tight, eyes distant - calculating. You scanned the alley: no signs of a struggle, no footprints heading out. Just silence, thick and tense, as if the violence still lingered in the air.

Whoever did this was long gone, but they’d left their message loud and clear.