This identity does not claim points.
The morgue is quiet in the middle of the night. It’s very clean and looks borderline futuristic – all sterile white light and stainless steel. I’ve seen evil laboratories that looked less like evil laboratories.
I was led to believe there would be a line of dead bodies under white sheets, with only their toes poking out, tagged like produce. The telly lied to me. Again.
Every shiny surface reflects me back at me.
All cadavers have been frozen inside drawers, all instruments put away, all signs of life abolished. This place is… well… dead.
Someone taps me on the shoulder.
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