What was once a glorious temple has now been reduced to a slaughter house. The vibrant red, even redder with blood, coats the place. Did you put it there? Of course not! You? You literally don't have the guts.

But you're about to. You put some in your bucket and dispose of it like the janitor you've trained to be. You're skilled in the ways of viscera cleaning. Blood melts away beneath your soaking mop. Bodies and body parts are mere rag dolls in your strong gloved grip. Murder could never be in your blood. Only bleach and sterility.

You've come to love your role in all this. Someone has to do it. Someone has to clean up after the good guys that put down bad guys or, bad guys that puts down anyone at all or, any murder spree really. It's all the same to you. Viscous viscus everywhere and your cleaning aids in the middle of the aftermath.