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Pale lips pressed together to form a thin, stressed line and the skin between his naked brows formed an indistinct crease as they came together while he stood stiffly in idle thought. A concerned presence stood in lieu of his typically stoic disposition as he quietly pondered to himself. Fingertips fueled by unadulterated frustration clawed into his arm that rest in a folded position across his chest and Gaara grit his teeth as a defeated sigh exhaled through his nose. The density of his repugnance had him feeling unsettled, anxious.

The atmosphere that surrounded the two Anbu operatives and himself was blanketed by a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Nobody knew what to say. Mirrored in the reflections of their troubled eyes was a scene far too unsightly for anyone sane to bear witness of without the incessant urge to heave. A petite animal lay on the floor before them, mutilated beyond any recognition; lifeless and bound unforgivingly tight by the limbs with wire strings, a tool designed for shinobi that was typically used in combat. The mangled newborn was abandoned in the center of a bloodied pentacle, which was assumed to be painted using the insides that were missing from the creature.

"This is the third time this month," one of his masked companions concluded with a disappointed shake of his head before staring at his feet. "This time we have a lead, somewhat.." the other replied and gently grasped onto his chin to speculate in solemn thought. Gaara remained reticent and instead studied their surroundings as he analyzed the area. On the wall above was a message written, one that provided them with little explanation: ᗩᗷOᐯE TᕼE ᗯᗩTEᖇᔕ TᗯIᑎ ᔕIᔕTEᖇᔕ Tᑌᖇᑎ TᕼEIᖇ ᗷᗩᑕKᔕ ᑌᑭOᑎ TᕼE OTᕼEᖇ TO ᒪEᗩᐯE TᕼE ᗩᗰᗷᗩGEᔕ ᑌᑎGᑌᗩᖇᗪEᗪ.