C-CUTC-032
Barista: Sarah Blackwood
Date: Dec-19-2019
Receipt: C-CUTC-032
Subject: Corpses
We continued the tests today—this time with human blood. I collected three samples from the Cafe and Diner; ███████, ██████, and ████ all volunteered.
It’s hard to separate what’s “██████” and what’s “███████,” but I think we can conclude that █████ ████ ██████ █████ ████████ ████ ████ ████████ ███████. ████████. Impressions of who they were, who they are, and who they might become. If combined with █████, it’d probably paint an even more vivid picture—though we’re holding off on any █████-based tests for now.
███████ ██████████’█ SAMPLE
She gasped, eyes wide, then fluttered shut. The sharp scent of sweet fennel, licorice, anise, and wormwood filled the room—bittersweet and biting. Her brows furrowed, a weight pressing down on her. Regret. Failure.
███████ ██████ █████████ ████ ██████ ██████. ███████ ███████ ████ █████████ ████████, ████ █████████ ████. A bitter cup of coffee left untouched beside a half-burnt cigarette.
She whispered, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” over and over, her voice cracking under the weight. Loneliness seeped through. ███████████ ██ █████ ███ █████████ ███, ███ ████████ ████████, ███ ██████-██ ███████—███ ███████.
██████ ██████’ SAMPLE
Her breathing quickened. The room grew unbearably hot, like the Texan sun beating down in midsummer. I swear I heard the faint crack of a belt. She flinched. Fear—raw and unrelenting.
But then, a flicker of light. The glow of a dusty black-and-white TV screen playing an old Western. The silhouette of a lone cowboy standing tall against the chaos—a symbol of justice.
She whispered, “Run… run fast… but never run alone.”
Longing lingered there—the ache to be strong, to be seen, to be safe. To be the sheriff on the screen. Because it takes a quick draw to ████ the ██████████.
████ ██████’█ SAMPLE
Her expression softened, then shifted into something unreadable. A flash of color—bright reds, blues, and yellows—comic book panels flickering past too fast to follow. Oversprayed half-tones and glossy covers.
Laughter rang out, but it felt forced. Hollow. Covering something darker.
She whispered, “███████’█ ████, ██ ██?”
███ █████ ██████ ███-███████, ████ ██ ████ █████ ██ █ █████ ███████ ████ ███ ███████. ████ ██████ ██ ███ █████—████ ██ ██’█ ███ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ███████ ██ ███ █████, ██ ███ ██████?
And if he’s right, we’re all in trouble.
Life would’ve been easier if he had a Joe Chill to save him—but ███ ████ ████████ ██ ███ ███████ ██ ███ █████ █████? It’s worse. So much worse.
Decaffeinate Receipt
“I C0DGB0EFH.”
Mystery Trivia | Cipher | 2 Words