Quoted By:
>Inspect the bodies
You turn your nose and decide to wade into the pool of dead. There’s a sticky substance underneath your feet as you step headfirst into the room, and a wall of stench assaults you. You resist the urge to turn back and attempt to inspect the bodies for further clues as to what happened here, or if one of these poor souls is that Delta guy you’re looking for. Eyeing the corpses once over, you can see from those with broken glass visors that, indeed, underneath all the suits and fabric these inspectors are elsen- like you.
Staring at the face of these once-people gets a little distressing, and your gaze can't help but drift away. Some of the bodies have clear bullet holes, from which gunky black ink runs out like a sewer drain, pooling on the floor. From the looks of it, the aim of this apparent gunman isn’t that sharp, as multiple extemporaneous bullet holes riddle each body, as if overcompensating for poor aim. Either that, or whoever did this wanted to make certain that these inspectors were very dead.
You scan the suits themselves, looking for some sign of rank or designation. As far as it seems, these suits are completely irrespective of nametag, and you can’t make heads or tails of how these inspectors differentiate each other. Perhaps some mechanism of their visors? You stare at the body in front of you, but there’s nothing inside the interior of the helmet.
Clutched in the hand of that inspector, however, is a small metal apparatus that shines underneath the dark blood of the scene. You carefully attempt to claw the small item from out of the cold grip of the body. As you watch its shine dance across the reflective surface of the item, you come to the conclusion that it’s a small keycard. You pocket it, slowly feeling it sink into your pocket.
As you do this, you feel the quiet clatter of boots stomping behind you.
