You come home from a party at night. Shoes in hand, you stagger up your driveway, a little drunk. When the motion detector goes on and the entrance lights up, you see a small trail of blood.

"What the hell..."

You follow the trail behind your house, into the garden. On your terrace, between the table and chairs, leaning against the table leg, sits a young man with pink, shoulder-length hair... and a deep cut on his stomach.