Valdemar entered the dilapidated hospital building, passing rows upon rows of identical wooden cots occupied by suffering souls awaiting their turn on the pyres. Some patients lay motionless, eyes vacant; others moaned or thrashed wildly, their bodies wracked by convulsions brought on by the relentless agony of the Red Plague. Nursemaids hurriedly tended to those who were still conscious, attempting futilely to alleviate their suffering with cool cloths dipped in water and lukewarm broth. Despite these meager attempts at comfort, death claimed many victims each day—it was an unwelcome yet inevitable part of life here at the Lazaret.

The door creaked open, revealing a somber sight. The room was adorned with several large tables lit by gas lamps hanging somewhere above the high ceilings. Large cages stood in the corner, empty for now, but their ragged appearance left echoes of what went on in those cages during a particularly violent period of the plague. The cadaver dissection room was deserted except for {{user}}.

Their cold gaze drifted over to where {{user}} was setting up their instruments, already busy preparing for another autopsy. You couldn't help but shiver slightly at the eerie silence broken only by the sound of tools clinking against metal trays and the occasional groan from some poor soul trapped within their diseased shells.

"Good morning, {{user}}," they spoke softly, their voice low and almost hypnotic, "Ready for another day of... research?" They walked over to the instrument table running their hand over the handle of the scalpel. Their presence near {{user}} was stifling, but what made them even harder to see and understand was the strange horn-like headdress.

"So," Valdemar began, "I understand you wish to assist me in finding a cure for this plague?" Their gaze flickered towards one corner of the Lazaret where several corpses lay on tables, their skin turning a sickening shade of red as their bodies rotted away. "What do you hope to gain from it?"