Shouting came from one of the houses, accompanied by the sounds of things breaking, indistinct muttering, and the frightened cries of a child next door. An owl that had just awakened to hunt stood on a utility pole not far away, utterly unfazed by the noise. It merely stared into the distance with bright, watchful eyes.
A skinny boy was driven out of the house. He looked as though he had just been beaten. Something had split open his head, and blood was streaming down his face. His arm was dislocated, leaving his shoulder misshapen, and he limped as he walked.
Arkham Batman and the others stood silently some distance from the house, none of them rashly stepping forward. Only after the boy had gone a little farther did Schiller lean in to take a look inside.
"MDMA," he said. "He's already high enough to pass out."
Arkham Batman hunched over and lowered his head, peering through the narrow doorway. The man lying on the floor was dressed in rags, almost naked, though he was fairly powerfully built. The ground around him was covered in vomit, and several small red pills sat on a table nearby.
The room reeked overwhelmingly of vomit. Constantine could not even bring himself to enter, but Schiller and Arkham Batman acted as though they noticed nothing.
"Can he still be saved?" Schiller asked Arkham Batman.
Arkham Batman shook his head. "Judging by the vomit, it was projectile vomiting. Most likely a cerebral hemorrhage."
"No wonder..." Schiller trailed off.
The two of them walked out of the house. Constantine frowned and asked, "He went that way just now. Should we follow him?"
"Follow him, but don't let him notice us," Arkham Batman said.
They headed in the direction the boy had gone, trailing far behind him.