Without any embellishments, a blood-soaked woman lay before the young man and woman.
Torn, bruised, her red dress, soaked entirely in blood, was identifiable as an old maid's uniform upon closer inspection. Her face and arms bore multiple abrasions.
The scrapes and bruises, however, were not fatal wounds. They hadn't bled a drop. A trail of deep red streaked from the slope behind her where she had fallen. There was nothing natural about this scene.
"Is there any hope for her?"
In a defensive posture, Gloria asked.
The young man looked down, then slowly shook his head.
Without closer examination, he knew from the ambiance, the bloody clothes, and her breathing pattern that this woman would die in a few minutes.
A careful inspection of the weapons embedded in her back would make even the most skilled doctor renounce any attempt to save her life, choosing instead to administer euthanasia.
