I looked over at my fellow passenger, trying to think of something–anything–to say. He had gotten on the elevator at the ground floor, two stops up from the parking garage where I normally boarded. He’d hit the button for the 23rd floor, accounting, as it it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

But he was also covered head to toe in fresh blood.

I’d seen a line of bloody footprints behind him when he boarded, and the ichor was puddling around him even now. It was so thick that I couldn’t even be sure that he was wearing anything other than gore, to be honest.

Around the 15th floor, after an intern had noped out of boarding and skedaddled in the opposite direction, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to say something, even if it just meant my AB+ was added to the figure’s dripping plasma caul.

“Having a rough day?” I said, hoping to break the ice with a little sympathy.

“Oh, yeah,” the bloody man said, in a voice as normal as you please. “It’s been a mess.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…?” I started, trailing off meaningfully and hoping he would get the gist.

“Oh this?” The man shook both arms, scattering crimson droplets as if he’d just gotten out of a heavy shower.

“Uh, yeah. That,” I replied, already trying to remember what got blood out of fabric as I watched the droplets sink into my expensive work clothes.

“It’s just Tuesday again, that’s all,” he said nonchalantly, as if that explained everything.”

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