A woman in a hazmat suit kneels on a floor slicked with blood, scrubbing away the remnants of a violent crime. The rain pours steadily outside the open doorway, casting a dim, moody light over the scene. A man, presumably her supervisor, stands over her, his boots caked in grime and his attitude dripping with contempt.
He towers over the woman, barking orders to clean faster. He insults her, mocking her status and threatening her livelihood, unaware that the real story is sitting just a few inches beneath her gloved hands.
The discovery that stopped time — As she pulls back a corner of the saturated rug, a piece of paper slides out. It’s a child’s drawing, depicting a house, a sun, and four stick figures: a mother, a father, a baby, and a fourth figure standing off to the side. The caption, scrawled in shaky, desperate letters, reads: \
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