“How's that theory working out for you Lyra,” Nickel shot as the mare approached the crime scene.

The body hung, forelegs outstretched and pinned with ten penny nails, from the overhang of the housing projects. Her organs had been carelessly crushed and written on the wall below, in blood, were the words, Hello, Detective Heartstrings.

Lyra turned and puked in the dirt beside the brick pathway.

“Well at least for you, I can't talk shit either, because whatever theory I had is in the shitter too,” Nickel shouted.

“Did the victim at least have the blood disease,” Lyra managed to ask shakily.

“No, she did not, so we're back to square fucking one,” he yelled.

Author's Note

This is older than Nightmare, but I thought it could work like this.