Beneath the city, in a forgotten wing of St. Augustine Hospital, lies the old morgue—its steel drawers rusting, its fluorescent lights flickering like the last heartbeat of the corpses inside. The hospital no longer uses it, but budget cuts forced them to reopen the doors. When the night shift mortician, Daniel Cross, takes the job, he thinks it'll be easy money: a place where silence reigns, the living rarely visit, and the dead... don't complain.
But the morgue has a history—a history that claws at its walls. Patients who died during botched experiments in the 1960s were stored there. Bodies that were never claimed. Murders covered up by the hospital board. And one drawer, bolted shut from the outside, labeled only with a number: 013.
