First.

[trustfellowship]

The past week seems to have been a reasonably steady one. There have been a few incidents here and there, but nothing overly drastic; while a fair amount of people seem to be insisting on being armed in some way, nothing has happened as a result. Yet. Friday morning dawns like the rest of the week before it – those bursts of static fire off at seven, the doors to the kitchen unlock, and the building is quiet. Perhaps the night passed peacefully; it'd be a reasonable assumption to make – after all, the past five days have been just fine – were it not for the thin trail of blood in the internal foyer. It's not a lot of blood, mind. Just a series of drips. But it very much is a trail of it, shining rust-colored and dark against the white tile. Maybe there's an explanation. Or maybe someone decided to be a damn overachiever. Explore?