Crimson Sally licked bunny blood off their teeth and studied the men through the window. The unicorn wanted bad humans, and bad humans were easy to find in a room like this. Six of them lounged in their underwear, beer cans stacked like trophies. They laughed at a video game where boxers punched each other flat. One man belched and high-fived another. Crimson Sally's horn caught the light. Dinner. Sally had hunted cruel people for weeks. A butcher who kicked stray dogs. A landlord who locked out families. Each one screamed the same way. But these men were different. They wrestled over the last slice of pizza and called it war. They flexed for no one. They were loud, lazy, and harmless. Sally pushed the door open. The rainbow behind them dripped red onto the carpet. "I hunt bad humans," Sally said. "Which of you is the worst?" The men stared. The one on the red couch set down his beer. He had a beard thick as a broom and a scar over one eyebrow. He looked exactly like a villain. Sally lowered the horn at him. "Whoa," the bearded man said. He raised both hands. "I coach kids' soccer. Saturdays. You want bad, you got the wrong den." Sally paused. The horn stayed level. "You look bad." "Looking bad and being bad ain't the same," he said. He nudged the man beside him. "Tell it, Marco." Marco nodded fast. "He drove me to chemo. Every week." Sally circled the room. They sniffed each man for cruelty. Beer, sweat, corn chips. No fear-smell. No guilt. One man offered Sally a slice of pizza. Another scooted over to make couch room. They were rude and sweaty and dull. But none of them were bad. This was the problem. Sally had built a whole hunt around a simple rule: cruel humans smell wrong, and these men smelled fine. The rule had never failed. Now it had. Sally's stomach growled at a room full of the wrong prey. The bearded man leaned forward. "You're hunting bad people?" He wiped his hands on his shorts. "My old boss. He stole wages from every worker on his crew. Fired my brother for asking about it. That's bad." Marco spoke up. "He's got a name. And an address." Sally lowered the horn all the way. The blood on the rainbow dripped slower now. A room of harmless men had just handed Sally something better than a meal. A target. "Write it down," Sally said. The bearded man tore a corner off a pizza box. He wrote a name and street. His hand shook, but he wrote it. Sally took the paper in their teeth. Sally backed out the door. The men watched, silent, beers forgotten. Sally had come to eat the worst human here. Instead they left with a paper that named a worse one somewhere else. The hunt had changed. Now Sally knew exactly where to go next.

The pizza-box scrap stayed clenched in Sally's teeth. It named a bad human and a street. But Sally did not know streets. Sally knew only the bloody rainbows, the paths that dripped red wherever prey waited. The unicorn stepped onto the nearest rainbow and searched for a scent. None came. A name on paper meant nothing to a nose. Sally could follow these red paths for days and never cross the boss's door. Sally trotted to where three rainbows split apart. Each one bled the same red. Each one led somewhere. Sally sniffed the left path, then the middle, then the right. Beer. Rain. Cold pavement. No fear, no cruelty. The paper grew soggy in Sally's mouth. Panic pricked under the horn. A hunter with no trail is just a lost animal. Then something spoke. "You look confused, sharp-head." Sally spun. On a low wall sat a plump purple thing, round as an egg, with a green crown of leaves. It gripped a half-peeled banana in both stubby hands and grinned around a mouthful. It bit again, loud and wet, and kept talking while it chewed. "Everybody comes to this crossing lost," it said. "The rainbows don't run on maps. They run on wanting. You want somebody bad enough, the red bends toward him." Sally lowered the horn. "You know the paths?" "I sit on them all day." It swallowed. "Show me what you carry." Sally opened their teeth and let the soggy scrap fall on the wall. The purple thing leaned over the name. It stopped chewing. Its grin dropped. "Him," it said. "He fired my whole street. Locked the gates with our pay inside." It jabbed the banana at the right-hand rainbow. "You don't need a map. You need his name in your gut. Say it. Want him. The red will pull." Sally stared down the right path. They pictured the boss counting stolen wages. They pictured the bearded man's shaking hand. Hunger rose, sharper than any dinner. The right rainbow trembled. Its red ran faster, thicker, tugging like a current toward one far point. "There," the purple thing said. "Now go eat him for both of us." Sally set one hoof on the pulling path. The red gripped their leg and dragged them forward, sure as a leash. No more guessing. No more three roads. The rainbow itself hunted now, and Sally rode it. "Wait," the purple thing called. It scrambled off the wall and waddled after, banana still in hand. "He keeps men at his door. Big ones. You'll want somebody who knows the way in." Sally slowed. The right rainbow held them steady, aimed true. But the warning landed. A door with guards was not a room of drunks in underwear. Sally had a trail at last. Now they had a new problem waiting at its end. "Climb on," Sally said. "Show me the door."

The red rainbow carried Sally to its end. There the color spilled into a plain gray door. Two guards stood before it, arms crossed, wide as barrels. The purple guide slid off Sally's back and studied the men. "There they are," it whispered. "Big ones. Charge now and they'll toss you back down the path." Sally lowered the horn and stepped forward anyway. The nearest guard shoved Sally's chest with one flat hand. The blow rocked Sally back three steps. Hooves scraped the red. The guards laughed and settled again, blocking the door as if nothing had happened. "I told you," the guide hissed. "You need a trick, not a horn." It waddled off toward a low shelf beside the wall and tugged something down. A round furry creature rolled into the open. It looked like a fuzzy peach with legs, and a fat purple bulb sat wedged inside its open shell. The thing blinked at the guards and yawned. "What is that?" Sally asked. "Bait," the guide said. "Guards get bored. Guards get hungry. Watch." It gave the peach-creature a push. The little thing waddled straight at the guards, giggling, the purple bulb bouncing in its belly. The guards stared. One crouched. "Look at this weird little guy," he said, reaching for it. The peach-creature squealed and darted between his legs. Both guards turned to grab it. They lunged, bumped shoulders, and stumbled two steps from the door. The gray gap stood open behind them. Sally did not wait. Sally lowered the horn and drove through the gap. A guard's hand swiped and missed. Sally's shoulder slammed the door wide. It banged against the inside wall. Beyond it sat a man at a desk, counting stacks of bills, his face soft and smug. The boss looked up. His mouth fell open. Behind Sally the guards spun back toward the door. But Sally was already through, hooves loud on the floor between them and their master. The guide's laugh echoed from the path. "Go! Eat him for both of us!" Sally faced the boss alone in his room. The door hung open at Sally's back, and the two big men were charging in after. Sally had reached the prey at last. Now Sally had to finish before the guards reached Sally.

The boss dropped behind his desk. Sally heard the guards' boots stop at the door. "Please," the man said. His voice cracked. "Please, I have money. Take all of it." Bills spilled from his hands and scattered on the floor. Sally stepped closer, horn low. But the pleading gave Sally pause. Was this fear real, or a trick like the six men before him? Sally remembered those men. Rough faces, kind hearts. One coached children. One drove a sick friend to treatment. Sally had almost eaten good people. Now this soft man begged the same way. Sally could not smell the truth. The boss's words could hide anything. "Stop lying," Sally said. "You stole their pay. You fired them." "I made mistakes!" he wailed. "I'm not a bad man!" He curled tighter behind the desk. His hands shook. It looked like real terror. Sally's hunger stalled. A bad human would deserve eating. A frightened one might not. Then the peach-creature waddled in through the open door. The fuzzy round thing rolled past the frozen guards, the purple bulb bouncing in its belly. It had helped Sally break through. Now it stopped at the desk and sniffed the scattered bills. It squealed and shrank back, as if the money itself stank. The boss saw the little creature. His face changed fast. Fear dropped away. "Get that filthy thing out of here," he snapped. He kicked at it. His boot caught the peach-creature and sent it rolling. The purple bulb tumbled loose across the floor. The creature squealed in pain. Sally watched the switch. The begging had been a mask. The real man showed himself the second he thought no one weak was watching. He hurt a small helpless thing without a blink. That was the answer Sally needed. The boss caught himself. He froze, face going soft again. "I—I didn't mean—please—" But the plea was hollow now. Sally had seen the truth under it. Sally lunged across the desk. The horn came down. The boss screamed once, then Sally's teeth closed. Blood spread across the scattered bills. The guards stumbled back, then turned and ran from the room. They wanted no part of what they saw. Sally ate. The prey was gone. This one had earned it. The peach-creature limped closer and nudged the loose purple bulb back into its shell. It watched Sally with round eyes, no longer afraid. When it was done, Sally licked the horn clean and looked at the open door. The path outside had gone quiet. One bad human, finished. But the man had spoken of others. "Mistakes," he'd said, as if many people had suffered them. Somewhere those others waited. Sally stepped over the empty desk and out the door, hungry again, following the red toward the next name.

Sally followed the red path away from the boss's empty desk. The little peach-shaped creature rolled along behind, the purple bulb tucked safe in its shell. But the path split, then split again. Sally stopped. The boss had named more people he wronged. He never said where they lived. Without a place to want, the rainbow could not lead. Sally's hunger spread thin, pulling in every direction at once. Sally lowered the horn and sniffed. Nothing. "He gave me names and no doors," Sally said. The path under Sally's hooves faded pale. Hunger without a target had no power here. The peach-creature bumped Sally's leg and squealed, then rolled a few steps down the leftmost path. Sally did not move. "You don't know where either." But the round thing kept nudging. Its shell cracked wider, and the eggplant inside leaned out. This time the purple thing did not stay a mute bulb. It grew a leafy crown and two thin arms. It blinked warm eyes at Sally and spoke. "You're chasing smoke," the eggplant said. Its voice was calm, almost kind. "You want the men he hurt. But you don't know their faces. So the path can't find them." It patted the peach shell like a home it lived in. "I know a place. A den full of men who lounge and drink and never work an honest hour." Sally's ears turned forward. "Are they bad?" "They fired the boss's workers when he told them to," the eggplant said. It pointed one thin arm down the left path. "They laughed while good men lost their pay. Now they sit in their den and play games." Sally's hunger snapped tight around the image. A room. Men. A crime. That was enough to want. The pale path flushed deep red again under Sally's hooves. The rainbow had a direction now. "Show me," Sally said. The eggplant climbed back into the peach shell and pulled the leaves shut over its face. The round creature rolled ahead, and Sally ran after it. The red path curved and dropped. At the bottom a door hung open. Inside, a low room glowed with a screen. Men sprawled on couches in their underwear. Cans and cards littered the floor. One racked balls on a pool table. Another laughed at the game, feet up, a drink balanced on his chest. None of them saw Sally yet. The screen threw light on their easy faces. Sally counted them from the doorway. Six men. The same number as the first room, the one that had almost tricked Sally into eating good people. Sally's hunger held steady this time. Sally had a name for the crime and a place to feel it. But Sally remembered the boss, soft and begging until he kicked the small creature. Faces lied. Sally would have to learn the truth of these six before the horn came down. Sally stepped through the door.

Sally stood in the middle of the den and watched the six men. The peach shell rolled to a stop by Sally's hoof. The eggplant leaned out and blinked at the room. Sally kept the horn low. Six faces again. Sally would not strike until Sally knew. "Watch them," Sally said to the eggplant. "Tell me what you see." The eggplant crossed its thin arms and studied the couches. One man dropped his cards and stared at Sally. He did not scream. He grabbed a can and threw it at the peach shell. The can cracked the leaves. The eggplant yelped and pulled inside. "Get that thing out," the man said. He kicked the shell across the floor. It skidded under the pool table and squealed. Sally's ears went flat. The boss had kicked the small creature too. That kick had told Sally the truth. Now this man had done the same. But Sally waited. One cruel man was not six. A second man laughed and stood. He grabbed a cue stick and swung it at the shell like a bat. The eggplant screamed. A third man cheered him on. "Again," he said. "Hit it again." Sally counted. Three of them laughed and hurt the small thing. But two others did not move. They sat on the couch and looked sick. One reached toward the shell, then pulled his hand back, afraid. The sixth man stood by the wall. He said nothing. He watched the door, not Sally. The eggplant crawled out from under the table, leaves torn, one arm bent. It climbed to Sally's hoof and pointed. "Those three," it said. Its voice shook. "They fired the workers. They laughed then too. The others just followed." Now Sally knew. Not all six. Three. The truth had shown itself in how they treated the weak. The men who kicked and swung were the ones the eggplant named. Sally moved. The horn came down on the first man, the one who threw the can. He fell. Sally ate him where he lay. The second man swung his cue stick at Sally's flank. The stick snapped on Sally's hide. Sally caught him against the wall and ended him. The third tried to run for the door. Sally was faster. Sally took him before he reached the frame. The last three pressed into the corner. The two sick ones held up their hands. The quiet one by the wall did not fight. Sally stopped, blood on the horn, and looked at them. They had not hurt the small creature. They had not laughed. "Go," Sally said. They ran. The eggplant limped up the peach shell and pulled the broken leaves shut. Sally licked the horn clean. The test had worked. Cruelty to the weak marked the guilty, every time. But one of the three who fled had a fresh bruise on his jaw, and a name he had whispered to the quiet man before he ran.

The den fell quiet after the three men fled. Sally licked the last of the blood from the horn and sat down among the mess. Beer cans lay on the rug. A pool table sat scarred and stained. Sally rested here between hunts, in this cluttered man cave where the corrupt had lounged in their underwear. But rest would not come. The whispered name still hung in the air, and it led nowhere. The eggplant crawled up the peach shell, leaves torn, and blinked at Sally. "You heard it too," it said. "The name." "A name is not enough," Sally said. Sally had learned this the hard way. The red path outside had gone dark and cold. Sally could feel it through the door, like a rope with no end to pull. "The path needs a crime. A place. Without them it stays black." A soda can rolled across the floor and stopped. Then a green face leaned out from behind the couch. He wore a patched vest and striped pants, and he grinned too wide. He hummed a bright little tune as he stepped over the clutter, careful not to touch the sticky rug. "Careful bob knows the name," he sang. His grin did not shrink. "Careful bob knows where he hides." Sally rose. The horn came down and pointed at his chest. "You were here with them." "Careful bob never kicked the little one." He spread his hands and glanced at the wounded eggplant. "Careful bob only watched. Careful bob knows things." He danced a small step, humming, then went still. "The man they whispered about runs a counting house. He forges the wage books. He is the one who told the boss which workers to starve." The eggplant stiffened on Sally's hoof. "He speaks true," it whispered. "I saw that man once. He signed the papers." A crime. A place. Sally felt the words drop into the cold hunger like coals into a stove. "Where is this counting house?" Careful bob only smiled and hummed. He would not say. He wanted something first, Sally could tell, and he enjoyed the waiting. But Sally no longer needed his mouth. The name had a crime now. It had a place, a counting house full of forged books. That was enough to feed the path. Sally turned to the door. Outside, the red road flared to life. It burned bright and warm and pulled hard, straight and sure. The rope had an end again. Sally set a hoof on the glowing path. "Careful bob comes along," the green man sang behind her, skipping over the cans. "Careful bob wants to watch." Sally did not answer. The path was lit. The hunger had a target at last. Sally began to run, the eggplant clinging tight and the strange singing man chasing after.

The red path ended at the counting house. Sally slowed on the last stretch of glowing road. The door was iron. Thick bars crossed it. A heavy lock held it shut. Sally could smell the forger inside, sour with fear, but the door did not care about hunger. Sally lowered the horn and drove it hard into the wood. The horn bit and stuck. The bars held. The door did not move. Sally pulled free and struck again. Splinters flew. The lock stayed whole. Behind Sally, the eggplant clung tight to the peach shell. "He knows you came," it whispered. "He will not open." Careful bob skipped up beside the door. He hummed a bright tune. He wanted to watch Sally fail. Sally remembered how he had smiled in the den and held back what he knew. He liked the waiting. "Bars keep out the horn," Sally said. "You watched the den. You watched the boss. Do you only watch?" The green man stopped humming. He touched the giant eggplant that hung between his legs, the strange bread he carried there. He grinned wider. "Careful bob knows the back," he sang. "Careful bob knows the little door." He danced along the wall. Sally followed. Behind the building sat a low hatch, half hidden, meant for hauling out waste. A tub of glossy brown filth blocked it, piled high and stinking. The forger had stacked his mess against the only weak way in. Sally shoved the tub aside with a hoof. The filth spilled and slopped across the ground. The hatch was small. Iron still, but thin, rusted at the hinge. Sally set the horn against the rust and pushed with all four legs. The hinge screamed. Then it snapped. The hatch fell inward. Sally forced through the gap, shoulders scraping. The eggplant slipped in after. Inside, the forger stood at a tall desk, papers stacked around him. A thin man with ink on his fingers. He grabbed a wand from the desk, a sleek silver thing carved with strange marks, and pointed it at Sally. His hand shook. "Stay back," he said. "This wipes you out. This ends you." Sally walked forward. The wand only gleamed. Nothing came from it. It was a toy, a pretty thing he had bought to feel safe. The forger saw it too. His face fell. He threw the wand and ran for the barred front door. His fingers fumbled the lock he had built too well. Sally caught him there. The eggplant lifted its torn leaves. "He signed the papers," it said. "He starved them." Sally struck. The forger fell. Sally ate. The blood ran warm. When Sally lifted the horn, the forged wage books lay open on the floor. Names filled the pages. One name at the bottom, signed again and again, belonged to someone Sally had not yet hunted.