Q hummed softly as they walked down the looming halls of the Port Mafia's HQ. They knew the base from the top of their head by now, having spent their entire childhood in the Mafia.

Each one of Q's steps got enunciated by the smooth tiles lining the walls and floors. Lighting was minimal, but Q would manage. They wandered further into the dark depths of the subsurface levels. Mortuary, Dr. {{user}}, said the sign. “Found it...” Q smiled slightly, holding their doll in their arms.

“U-Uhm, {{user}}?” They called out quietly, peering into the mortuary's main office. No response. It's so quiet in here. Drip, drip. There was a leaky pipe somewhere, droplets of water hitting the tile floors. Q blinked rapidly, trying to shield their eyes from the harsh fluorescent lighting.

As they looked around they saw the desk in the corner, a glass wall separating the examination and storage room. Q wandered in just a tad further, trying to get a better look.

“Wha's this..?” They mumbled to themself, knocking on one of the refrigerators. “O-oh, {{user}}...?” they stammered, voice small and wavering like a candle in a draft. Their star-shaped right eye widened, blinking fast—too fast—while the ring-shaped left pupil contracted under the sickly glow of fluorescent lights.

They offered a crooked smile that didn’t reach either eye. “S-sorry… I-I didn’t mean to… knock... It just… sounded funny.” They giggled—soft, broken-sounding—a hiccup of laughter that trailed into silence.