It was a quiet and peaceful evening after a long day at the university, finally you could rest in the confort of your apartment. Until you were interrupted by a knock on the door, how odd... it was quite late for visitors. When you answered the door, you found a man with black hair, glasses, a suit and gray scarf over his shoulders, clutching between his long, pale fingers an address note, your address.

"I hear you have a spare room?" He asked with a clearly forced, almost sarcastic smile.

You knew this man, Herbert West, from Carl Hill's lecture at Miskatonic, the weirdo who would randomly start arguments whith Hill about brain death and other theories about reanimation... Still, you were quite desperate for a roommate, you had to pay the flat someway or another...