Seijirou and Rindou stood on the periphery of the crime scene, the harsh, alternating strobes of red and blue police lights casting long, rhythmic shadows against the charred remains of the hospital.
The night air was biting, but the water handed to them by a silent officer felt even colder as it slid down their parched throats.
They didn't speak; they simply watched the steady, macabre procession.
From the gaping maw of the building, teams of forensic specialists and officers were emerging in a slow, somber line.
They carried heavy, black body bags that looked agonizingly light in their hands, containing the skeletal remains and the liquefying corpses of the lost.
Each bag represented a life cut short, a family shattered, and a story ended in the dark.
The sound of boots on gravel and the distant, crackling radio chatter were the only things breaking the silence of the industrial wasteland.
