Half an hour before the prison collapsed, the morgue beneath the main complex was still quiet. A forensic pathologist stood beside the autopsy table examining the massive corpse that had recently been brought down from the maximum-security wing. The longer he worked, the stranger his expression became.
"Wasn’t this guy already pronounced dead?" he muttered while pressing two fingers against the corpse’s arm. The muscles should have begun developing the stiffness associated with rigor mortis, yet the tissue remained disturbingly pliable. Apart from the complete absence of a heartbeat, the body almost felt as if it were still alive.
"What the hell were they feeding you down here?" The pathologist shook his head and reached for a syringe, deciding that bloodwork might provide an explanation. He inserted the needle into a vein and pulled back on the plunger, but nothing entered the tube.
He frowned and tried another location with the same result. After several unsuccessful attempts, his patience finally ran out, and he picked up a scalpel instead. A shallow incision along the inside of the corpse’s elbow should have produced at least some residual blood.
Instead, a thick black liquid slowly seeped from the wound.
The pathologist froze for a second before leaning closer. He touched a tiny amount with a gloved finger and rubbed it between his fingertips, finding the substance unnaturally viscous. "Okay. That’s definitely not normal."
He should have stopped the autopsy immediately and called for assistance, but years of working around death had made him more curious than cautious. After recording the strange fluid, he continued preparing the body for examination. That was when an unfamiliar sound began spreading faintly through the morgue walls.
At first, the pathologist barely noticed it. "Since when did the guards start playing choir music down here?" he muttered absently while reaching for another instrument. Then the strange rhythm became clearer, and the joking expression slowly disappeared from his face.
"No... that isn’t music."
He turned sharply toward the corpse.
The incision he had made moments earlier was closing.
The pathologist stood completely still as the torn tissue slowly pulled itself together before his eyes. Within seconds, only a faint dark line remained where the scalpel had cut. The chanting outside the room continued growing louder.
"What the hell...?"
The corpse’s fingers twitched.
The forensic pathologist stumbled backward so quickly that he nearly knocked over an instrument tray. Before he could reach the morgue door, the massive body on the autopsy table suddenly drew in a deep breath and slowly sat upright. Its movements were stiff at first, but they became smoother with every passing second.
The chanting intensified.
The pathologist stared at the body in complete disbelief.
Cold sweat covered his face.
The dead man swung his feet onto the floor and stood.
The pathologist wanted to run, yet his legs refused to obey him. His entire body trembled uncontrollably as the reanimated prisoner took one slow step after another in his direction. Desperate for something rational to focus on, his eyes dropped toward the identification tag still attached to the corpse.
EDWARD THEODORE GEIN
The pathologist swallowed.
"Ed Gein..." He forced out a terrified smile. "Good morning."
Gein’s large hand shot forward before he could say anything else.
Fingers locked around the pathologist’s throat and lifted him partially off the ground. The doctor clawed desperately at Gein’s wrist, but the resurrected prisoner’s strength was completely beyond anything he could overcome. A second later, Gein twisted his hand sharply.
Crack.
The struggling stopped instantly.
The pathologist’s head fell loosely to one side as Gein released him. After remaining motionless for several seconds, Gein calmly lifted the dead man and placed him across the autopsy table. His expression remained vacant until his gaze settled on the scalpel lying on the floor.
He bent down and picked it up.
Gein moved with disturbing familiarity as he positioned himself beside the body. The blade traced carefully around the dead man’s face while his hands worked with an almost practiced precision. Before long, he lifted a fresh mask of human skin from the corpse.
For the first time since awakening, Gein appeared excited.
He carefully pressed the mask over his own face and adjusted it until it sat correctly. The warm, slick material covered his features, and his shoulders slowly relaxed as if a constant source of anxiety had finally disappeared. Showing the world someone else’s face seemed to make him feel safer than wearing his own.
Then the chanting became deafening.
Gein slowly turned toward the morgue walls.
The floor trembled.
The lights flickered violently overhead, medical instruments rattled across steel trays, and cracks raced through the concrete. Within moments, the entire prison began to shake as if something enormous beneath the foundation had finally awakened.
Axel Vance pushed open what remained of the bathroom door and stopped dead.
The office was gone.
So was most of the building around it.
Instead of stepping into Warden Holden’s office, Axel found himself staring across a massive crater filled with shattered concrete, twisted steel, broken furniture, and clouds of settling dust. Entire sections of the prison had collapsed downward along with portions of their foundations.
"Son of a bitch!" Holden emerged behind him and stared at the devastation with his face rapidly turning red. "That wasn’t an earthquake!"
Axel glanced toward him. "You figured that out from the part where half your prison disappeared?"
Holden ignored the sarcasm and stared at the ruins of the facility he had managed for years. "Who the hell designed this place? If I find the architect responsible for this disaster, I swear I’ll drag him out of retirement myself!"
Axel placed a hand on his shoulder before the warden could continue shouting. "Forget the architect. We need to find survivors first."
Holden took a step forward, but Axel immediately caught his arm again. The collapse had probably freed dozens of violent prisoners, while many corrections officers would either be injured or trapped. Walking into that situation unarmed would be a particularly stupid way to survive the building collapse only to die five minutes later.
"Wait," Axel said. "Where do you keep weapons?"
Holden blinked.
"We’re not walking into the prison empty-handed."
That finally forced the warden to think clearly. He looked toward the pile of debris that had once been his office and suddenly pointed. "The safe. I kept emergency firearms in the safe under the desk."
The two immediately began digging through the rubble. After several minutes of shifting broken boards, plaster, and chunks of concrete, they uncovered the remains of Holden’s heavy office desk. The steel safe underneath had been dented by the collapse but had not broken open.
Holden entered the combination and pulled hard until the damaged door finally moved. Inside were two Glock pistols, each with a loaded magazine but no spare ammunition. He checked both weapons before handing one to Axel.
"This is everything we’ve got," Holden said. "Make every shot count."
Axel wrapped his fingers around the pistol.
A familiar system notification immediately appeared.
[Firearm detected.]
[New Specialization Activated: Police Marksmanship]
[Police Marksmanship Lv. 1 — 0/1000]
[Effect: Physique +0.1]
Axel’s eyes brightened.
He had spent days wondering where his next specialization might come from after leaving the prison. Instead, the system had handed him one before his undercover assignment was even officially over. Police Marksmanship also confirmed his earlier theory that specializations required the correct environment, knowledge, or equipment to activate.
A subtle surge of strength passed through his body as the specialization settled into place. Axel checked the Glock, familiarized himself with its weight, and made sure the magazine was seated correctly. Whatever waited inside the ruins, having both Adaptive Resistance and a firearm made him considerably more comfortable.
Holden checked his own pistol and nodded. "Ready?"
"As ready as I’m going to be."
They moved deeper into the collapsed prison.
The destruction looked catastrophic from a distance, yet the prison’s reinforced construction had prevented every cellblock from being completely flattened. Many steel cells had partially held their shape beneath the falling debris, leaving enough gaps for prisoners to crawl free. By the time Axel and Holden reached the central ruins, inmates were emerging from openings everywhere.
"Run!" someone shouted. "God just opened the front door for us!"
Another prisoner immediately answered, "Jack, I’m getting released next week. I’m not adding ten years because you’re an idiot."
"Bullshit! You told everyone you killed three guys!"
"I was bragging!"
The argument disappeared beneath dozens of other voices as panic and excitement spread through the crowd. Some prisoners were already searching for an escape route, others were helping injured friends, and several simply stood among the rubble without knowing what to do. A handful of surviving corrections officers tried to regain control, but nobody was listening.
Then someone noticed Axel standing beside Holden.
"Hey!"
A prisoner pointed directly at him.
"I fucking knew it! Vance is a cop!"
Several heads immediately turned.
Axel calmly raised the Glock toward an empty section of open sky.
Bang!
The gunshot cracked across the ruined prison and instantly silenced most of the shouting. Dust drifted through the suddenly quiet air while every prisoner stared at Axel. He lowered the weapon, tucked it securely at his waistband, and patted Holden on the shoulder.
"Your prison."
Holden understood immediately.
He stepped forward and raised his voice. "Everyone shut the hell up and listen!"
The warden quickly began sorting the survivors into manageable groups. After several chaotic minutes, they counted more than fifty prisoners and roughly a dozen corrections officers who were capable of standing and following instructions. Everyone else was either trapped somewhere beneath the rubble, injured beyond easy reach, missing, or already taking advantage of the collapse to escape.
Under ordinary circumstances, Holden would have been furious about the fugitives. Right now, he did not have enough manpower to chase anyone. Keeping the survivors alive and preventing another violent collapse mattered far more.
They located a partially intact staff lounge and turned it into a temporary command post. Injured prisoners and guards who could still move were brought there, while stronger survivors were organized into rescue teams. Every place where someone heard shouting or banging beneath the debris was marked for excavation.
Axel helped move a section of broken concrete before something suddenly crossed his mind.
The Big Guy.
More specifically, the condition of his body.
Axel turned toward Holden, who was sweating heavily while directing another rescue group. "Holden, what happens to prisoners after they die here?"
The warden barely looked at him. "What?"
"Bodies. Where do you send them?"
"Usually the morgue." Holden pointed distractedly toward another team while answering. "The forensic pathologist performs the examination before they’re released for whatever comes next."
Then he suddenly froze.
"The pathologist."
Holden slapped his forehead.
"Damn it, I forgot about him."
The prison now had dozens of wounded people and almost no medical support. A forensic pathologist was not an emergency-room physician, but any trained doctor could still be useful under these circumstances. Holden immediately called several nearby guards and prisoners over.
"We’re going to the morgue."
Axel followed without explaining why the answer had bothered him.
The group began clearing a path through the collapsed section leading toward the morgue. Broken concrete and twisted metal slowed them down, but enough of the lower structure remained intact that they eventually uncovered the entrance. Several men worked together to remove the final pieces of debris blocking the doorway.
The smell reached them first.
Then they saw the room.
Everyone stopped.
The forensic pathologist lay across the autopsy table.
His neck had been broken, and his face had been mutilated beyond recognition. Blood covered part of the table and several instruments nearby, while the open morgue looked as though someone had calmly worked inside it even during the chaos.
Holden stared in horror. "Jesus Christ..."
Axel barely looked at the doctor.
His attention went directly toward the second autopsy table.
It was empty.
The body that should have been lying there was gone.
Axel’s expression slowly hardened.
He turned toward Holden.
"Warden."
Holden looked at him.
Axel pointed toward the empty table.
"Do dead people in your prison normally come back to life?"
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