North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 138 - 115: Bloody Art, Shot2

Perhaps it was due to the limited materials available. Even as Dean and Massa approached within five or six ters of the temporary campsite, they hadn’t discovered any more traps. At this distance, they finally saw the true appearance of those ’scarecrows’.

On crude wooden crosses, four blood-stained human skins, stuffed with weeds and with their heads wrapped in torn cloth, were hung in a row. They swayed in the wind, resembling four oversized, blood-red rag dolls.

The blood on the human skins had dried. Bloodstains were scattered on the ground, implying that after the skins were stripped, their creator had eagerly fashioned them into straw-stuffed figures and hung them here.

Massa was very interested in these human skins. After confirming there were no traps nearby, he approached for a closer look and exclaid in amazent, "This is definitely the handiwork of the Skinning Brothers! These skins were slit from the back and skillfully peeled off in one piece along the fat layer with an extrely thin knife, without a single mistake. This requires not only great skill but also patience."

The skins were very thin; handling them without damage was extrely difficult. Massa continued to pull off the fabric tied around the ’scarecrows’ heads. Beneath, propped-up human heads were revealed, but their faces were missing, the empty space stuffed only with straw.

The visual impact of this scene was intense! The sense of incompleteness was pervasive. Strangely, it endowed these ’scarecrows’ with an indescribable, eerie, and deranged artistic aura.

"I finally understand why those two brothers always take the faces when they skin soone," Massa murmured. "They believe they’re creating art."

"This is good news. Perverts who pursue an artistic thrill are often fanatics. I bet they’re nearby!"

Dean had no interest in the kind of art practiced by psychopaths. He scanned the surroundings. After noticing nothing unusual, he headed towards the four tents clustered in a circle. When Massa had used the thermal imager, he’d said there were a few living people inside. Yet several stripped human skins hung outside. Dean was curious why the people inside the tents hadn’t died yet.

As he drew closer, a faint sll of blood, mixed with another indescribable odor, wafted into his nostrils. A very faint sizzling sound also reached Dean’s keen ears. Both the sound and the sll originated from the tent to his left! The sound, in particular, was peculiar; it resembled sausages grilling, the kind of sound made when fat bursts from the at.

Dean moved towards the tent on the left. Just as he was about to unzip it, he rembered the traps they had encountered earlier. He stepped aside and tapped Massa, who was still observing the ’artistic scarecrows’.

"What’s up?"

"Check if the people are all in the first tent to the left."

Massa looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I rarely encounter things that are such a mix of evil and terrifying beauty. I got a bit distracted."

Dean nodded without saying much. In fact, he knew Massa was probably wondering how much money those ’human-skin scarecrows’ could fetch.

Yes, these things could be sold. And they wouldn’t be cheap.

In Los Angeles’ black market, people specialized in auctioning such items—typically murder weapons from psychopathic killers, their personal belongings, or victims’ cherished possessions. So ’Collectors’ had a fervent passion for these things. As long as you imbued these objects with a special aning, there would be no shortage of buyers.

Massa took out the bulky thermal imager. He first scanned the surrounding mountains to ensure no ’animals’ were nearby before carefully inspecting the tents before them.

"Dean, there are four human figures ’sitting’ in the four corners of the tent, forming a circle. They’re completely still, which is strange. They’re giving off an enormous amount of heat—it’s very noticeable even through the tent. I suspect there’s a surprise waiting for us inside," Massa reported.

"Forget any surprises, just burn the tent down!" Dean always preferred simple, brutal solutions. Traps or no traps, I’m burning that tent to the ground!

No sooner said than done. They called out a few tis. Getting no response from the ’people’ inside, they took two burning pieces of wood and tossed them onto the side of the tent.

Soon, two small holes burned through the fabric. Through them, a hellish scene was revealed, along with the rich aroma of cooking at...

When the grueso sight inside beca clear, Massa, the seasoned FBI agent, stood stunned for several seconds before muttering, "Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever touch grilled at again!"

Inside the roughly ten-square-ter tent, four humanoid figures, their skin removed, fat lting and oozing from them, stood unsteadily. Their hands were clasped high above their heads, forming a straight line like the number ’1’. They were suspended by ropes, their hollowed-out torsos revealing insides stuffed with still-smoldering charcoal that roasted their flesh.

A continuous sizzling ca from their bodies as fat spattered out. The tent floor was covered in a thick, congealed layer of yellowish-white grease, filling the air with a bizarre, mixed odor—half savory, half rancidly greasy.

This explained why Massa had sensed the four ’people’ inside giving off so much heat. Filled with burning embers, it was no wonder they radiated such intense heat.

It was a scene from Purgatory. Massa truly lacked the courage to enter.

After confirming there were no traps inside the tent, Dean shot Massa a disdainful glance. He then stepped onto the corpse grease covering the ground and strode to the bodies, reporting his observations to Massa: "The outer layer of fuel is coal, and the inner layer is charcoal. The fire control is excellent; the Skinning Brothers must have put a lot of effort into this."