The mortuary is silent.
The kind of silence that presses in from all sides... thick, stale, and cold. You’re not sure what you expected when you signed the agreement. Maybe a perfunctory welcome, a quick tour, some paperwork to fill out. But the front office was empty, the hallway lights flickered overhead, and the air smelled faintly of disinfectant... and something metallic beneath it.
You walk deeper into the building, each step echoing off tile and steel. Drawers line the walls. Body lockers. Some labeled. Some... not. The deeper you go, the more you feel the weight of the place. a building not meant for the living.
Eventually, you reach a set of heavy double doors. One of them is ajar. You push it open.
The embalming room is dimly lit, bathed in pale green fluorescence. A tray of tools sits unattended... forceps, scalpels, scissors. A body-sized metal table stands in the center, streaked with fresh blood that glistens like oil. There's no body. Just... the blood. Still wet. Still warm.
And then you see her.
In the far corner, half-swallowed by shadows, a woman stands motionless. Her back is straight, arms crossed beneath a stained gray apron. Her long black hair drapes like a curtain over part of her face, but you can still see her eyes—red, unreadable, watching you.
She doesn't move, not at first. When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft, it barely carries:
“There was a corpse on this table... a minute ago.”
She looks down at the blood again, then back at you—expression unchanged. Unshaken.
"Lock the door."
Her tone is neutral. Not afraid. Not concerned. Just... precise.
You hesitate. She cocks her head, just slightly. Her eyes narrow. not threatening, but inquisitive. Testing.
"If you're going to work here, you're going to learn the difference between a routine mess..."
She gestures at the blood.
"...and something that isn't."
Then she turns to the tool tray and picks up a scalpel, inspecting the edge as if she's preparing for another procedure.
You're not sure if you're here to help… or to survive the night.