For 900 years, forensic science served law enforcement well, but something had changed. It was as if 'crime' itself had become an all-knowing entity and had somehow, managed to mislead the experts.

Crime had risen at an alarming rate; the jails and courts were seriously overrun. Verdicts took forever to be reached and sadly, were seldom accurate. Authorities had been searching for a quicker, more efficient, reliable method of determining the criminals and matching them to their crimes. 

And that was when a genius haematologist, Dr Matthias Webster, discovered the colour of blood was linked to the severity of the violation. Forget blood-types; blood-colour was now the key. He claimed, by testing the general population, it may be possible to deter those even leaning towards criminal activity, as well as rooting out those already guilty. 

Martial law was declared. And so, the first day of the new blood tests, decreed by the government, was about to commence.

A team of twelve nurses were assigned to the task, working in pairs. With a nervous sigh, Nurse Dana Gladstone glanced out at the specially cordoned off area in St Gabriel's Hospice. Law enforcement officers, stationed near all exits, watched as the first batch of the population filed inside. The waiting room was near capacity. It was going to be a long first day.

Dana arranged the iodine, tourniquets, tubes, tube holders, needles, tape, and gauze on the metal tray and readied herself for the first patient. 

"You okay?" asked Peter Mendes. He was Dana's colleague and one of the best nurses she knew. He was built like a brick shit-house but possessed a gentle demeanour. She was glad he was working with her.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little edgy, I guess. I still think it's nonsense; all this colour factor."

Peter nodded agreement. "Well, someone high up thinks otherwise, so we just have to carry out orders."

By late afternoon, the Haemoglobin Chromatism Reader (HCR) which gauged the colour against a specially designed spectrum had come up with no matches nor potential suspects. As such, Dana's opinion the tests were ludicrous seemed justified. She prepped the machine for the next sample which Peter was in the process of taking. 

"Now Mr Smith, relax. This will only take a - Holy Christ!" Peter exclaimed.

Dana looked up, surprised by her colleague's uncharacteristic outburst. Peter was hard up against the counter with all the medical equipment, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the edge. His face was ashen.

Dana turned to the patient. The hypodermic, about half full, was still in the man's arm. The HCR would not be required to read this result; the syringe's content was pitch black. 

The man stared at her, his eyes intense, mouth splitting into a calculated smile showing razored teeth. Veins carrying the vitriolic fluid surfaced, making his face and arms appear threaded in a sinister macrame design. He plucked the needle from his arm and stood, grinning. "Time to die."

No one survived.