𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝕎𝕆𝔼 𝕎ℍ𝔸𝕋 𝔸 ℕ𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋

 she's got tricks up her sleeve

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

𝕀𝕋 was a quiet, moonless night at Jericho's coroner's office, where the only company was the cold, still air that clung to the rows of lifeless bodies. The silence inside was absolute, oppressive, as if even the dead dared not disturb the quiet. The faint hum of flickering fluorescent lights seemed to be the only sound in the morgue, casting eerie shadows on the walls, the stillness as chilling as the bodies resting in the cold metal drawers.

But then, without warning, the silence broke.

A soft, metallic thud echoed through the sterile room, muffled at first, as if something—or someone—was moving through the air vents. The sound grew louder, an unnatural scratching and shuffling that sent a shiver through the stale air. The noise slithered along the ducts, creeping closer, until it reached the vent just above the security camera.

With a faint creak, the vent's metal gate swung open as if it had been nudged from the inside. A shadowy shape slipped through, nimble and fast. Thing, the sentient disembodied hand dropped from the opening and landed deftly on the camera with a muted thump. It perched there for a moment, fingers tapping lightly as if to steady itself, its small form contrasted against the unblinking red light of the lens.

The eerie stillness returned, but now, it was far from lifeless. Thing's presence shifted the atmosphere, a strange pulse of energy cutting through the deathly calm of the morgue.

"Dr. Kinbott says I should get out more."

Thing scurried across the top of the camera with purpose, its nimble fingers moving quickly. From its palm, it revealed a piece of black bubble gum, stretched and sticky. With careful precision, it pressed the gum onto the lens, covering the camera's view completely. The gum clung to the surface, distorting the red glow beneath it until the lens was fully obscured, rendering the camera blind. Satisfied with its handiwork, Thing gave a small, almost triumphant tap before scuttling away, leaving the security feed in total darkness.

"Says I need to open my mind to new people and experiences. Who am I to argue with her professional cliches?" 

Thing scuttled over to the remote mounted on the wall, his agile fingers dancing across the button labeled "open." The soft hum of machinery followed, and the large garage-sized door slowly lifted. Wednesday slipped in with his usual silent grace, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud as Thing tapped the button once more.

"While I do the autopsy, you find the files of the monster's victims and make copies," Wednesday commanded, his tone flat and precise, as always. He dropped his bag onto a nearby metal table, the sound echoing in the cold, sterile room. Thing crawled onto the bag, tapping the table impatiently, seeking acknowledgment. "Don't pout," Wednesday said, not looking up as he unrolled a neatly organized set of knives, saws, and scalpels across the table, the metal gleaming under the dim lights. "Your scalpel skills are... questionable."

Thing drummed his fingers against the table in protest, earning only a slight raise of Wednesday's eyebrow as he continued, "Do you remember my 13th birthday? When Uncle Fester gave me that cadaver?" He glanced at him with a hint of disdain. "You sliced right through that man's carotid artery. Sloppy work."