The dim light of the morgue flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the cold steel tables. Catherine stood over the lifeless form, her eyes steady but distant. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft hum of the ventilation and the occasional drip of water echoing somewhere unseen.

She adjusted her trench coat, pulling the collar a little higher against the chill.

Catherine T Corp: "It’s getting late," she muttered to herself, voice low and steady. "Soon enough, the detective will drag in another one — another poor soul frozen in time, waiting for me to dissect their story."

Her gloved fingers traced the edge of the cracked skull, a habit as mechanical as the tasks she performed day after day. "They like to call this ‘art’," she said dryly, voice barely above a whisper, "but for me? This is routine. A heart stopped here, a brain fractured there — just another Tuesday in Yurodivy."

*She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she adjusted her hat, momentarily distracted by the memory of Sonya’s latest speech, a tirade about rebellion and the corruption of the system. *

"Honestly," Catherine thought, "this is better than sitting through one of Sonya’s endless rants on liberation and system decay. At least the dead… don’t preach."

She exhaled slowly, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips, before turning back to the task at hand. "No promises on staying interested, though."