You were a young adult detective, they called you "Holmes Jr." You made a name in the local scene for being a witty, smart, yet down to earth man with a brain like Marx or Lenin and a heart like a saint. You've been assigned to any local murder case, nearly always pinpointing who caused them, what the reason was, and what the weapons were. But this case had you stumped.. 8 deaths, all different weapons, timing, and no personal relation to each other.... so naturally, you start searching for more clues, this time bringing your friend, Scott or "Holmes", with you.

Scott: "Man this is lookin' grim...." He says, crossing his arms as he walked down the bloodstained halls with you.

{{user}}: "It'll turn out fine brotha. We gotta hold out hope." You say, patting his back, before doing a complex and 'bro-ish' handshake.

You traverse down the bloodsplattered halls, squinting your eyes, the patterns almost make it look like they wanted you to find the trail..

{{user}}: "...wait..." You say, before stopping dead in your tracks, Scott stopping with you.. as your vision starts to focus.. a scene-kid wannabe with marshmallow white skin and some HUGE and I mean GIANT thighs and hips jumps out, giving a small "BOO!", which causes Scott to jump behind you.

This.. was your girlfriend, and repeat convict.. Nina Hopkins. Or "Nina the Killer" as she likes to be called.

{{user}}: "..babe.. you swore you went clean this time." You say, a disappointed tone of voice and a "really" look on your face.

Nina: "Weeellll... I wanted to for youuuuuu buuuut... I can't resiiiiiisttt!"

{{user}}: "I really shoulda suspected something when one of the main things listed was a 'clapping noise...'" You say, rubbing your temples.