Gretta sat in the darkness on the hard ceramic tile floor of her cell. The air was thick with the stench of death and lemon-scented cleaner. She had a stainless steel bucket, which she presumed was meant to be a toilet, but was holding her vomit. Her stomach hurt with emptiness, and her mouth was parched.

While she knew a spell to help her see in the dark, it hadn’t worked. She had tried the spell despite the camera watching from the corner of the containment room, unsurprised to find herself cut off. The blue runes on the wall around the room glowed brighter the harder she pulled on magic, and despite nearly passing out from exertion, she didn’t feel the slightest twinge of power reach her.

Beyond the flashing red light of the camera in the corner, a soft green glow emanated from a counter, hinting at active devices. The faint jade glow didn’t reveal what the devices were, but considering they had left Rowan’s body on the stainless steel table, her suspicions were unsettling.

The lock clicked, and then there was a beep. The door opened, and clean air drifted in. A tall woman with dirty blonde hair in a tight bun entered. Her white lab coat flapped behind her. She held a coffee in one hand and a donut in the other. She wore earbuds and swayed to a beat that only came out as muffled thumps.

The overhead lights flickered briefly and came to life. Gretta blinked. The woman set her coffee and donut on the counter next to tools that Gretta could now see with the lights on. Gretta preferred the dark, where Rowan’s naked body wasn’t easy to see.

The lady pulled a pair of blue latex gloves from a box on the wall and tugged them on. Then she donned a paper cap and a clear plastic face shield.

“What are you doing?” Gretta asked.

The woman didn’t so much as glance her way as she moved a cart out from under the counter. There was a scale and some shiny bowls. The woman picked up a small metal rotating saw off the counter and stood over Rowan like she was eying a piece of lumber.

“I said—what the hell are you doing?” Gretta asked again, this time nearly shouting.

The woman’s shoulders sagged slightly, and then she set the saw down, picked up a gun, and turned around. She aimed the gun right at Gretta.

The woman was nearly yelling, presumably because of her music. “I’m going to work in peace. You can be conscious or not. I’d rather not waste the money on a dart, but that’s what discretionary budgets are for.”

Gretta glared at the woman but remained silent. She didn’t believe an FBI agent could tranquilize a prisoner without justification, yet the circumstances felt far from normal. The room appeared only partially equipped for an autopsy. The setup was too makeshift—lacking refrigeration, overhead vents, and floor drains. This wasn’t a morgue—it was a containment chamber.

The woman turned around, set the gun down, and picked the saw back up. Gretta couldn’t watch as the saw spun back up. There was a crunch and grinding sound, and if she could have vomited, she would have, but her stomach was empty. In a way, she was thankful she had turned down the candy bar.

When the grinding stopped, there were wet sucking sounds, tearing, and wet plopping sounds. She couldn’t look. She wasn’t friends with Rowan. She barely knew him, but he had tried to save Sofia and her, and now he was being pulled apart a few feet away.

The woman hit the button on a recording device. “Heart is 11 ounces, exceeding the typical for a six-foot-tall male human.” Her voice was a pleasant, light soprano. She was upbeat, as if she were talking about the perfect dress going on sale.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Another plop, the scraping of metal, and the woman spoke again. “Liver is comparable in weight to a six-foot-tall male human.”

And so the continued weighing of Rowan’s organs went, with the woman comparing Rowan to a human as if he were an alien, and all the while, she sounded excited.

The click of the lock and a beep made Gretta look at the door. Agent Mackinaw strolled in. He looked at the table and then at Gretta. His face was a grim mask.

“Excuse me,” the woman said. “I’m a little busy here.”

“Pardon me, Doctor Hicks,” Mackinaw said. “I need to speak to Subject 16.”

It took a moment for Gretta to realize that Mackinaw was talking about her. She was no longer a suspect or even a human. She was now Subject 16? Was she going to end up on the table next?

“I’m not done with the examination,” she said.

Mackinaw looked from Rowan’s disemboweled body to the doctor. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

Doctor Hicks smirked. “Fine. I could use a few hours of rest. At least help me wheel this subject to the coolers.” She pulled off her protective facemask and hat.

Mackinaw shook his head. “Subject 15 is supposed to stay in the containment room at all times.”

“He’ll putrify by morning,” she said.

“Our orders are to keep every last one of his cells in this room. Apparently, this one is special.”

“Nothing could come back from this,” she said. “I think Victor is overreacting.”

Mackinaw glanced at the camera and then lowered his voice. “Every single cell stays here.”

“Then I better find a few bags to seal this up, or nobody on this floor will be able to breathe.”

“Victor has arranged for incineration. Agents will be here in twenty minutes to escort the body.”

“Can I keep a few brain cells?” she asked.

Mackinaw shook his head. “You can leave your tools and gloves here. They will clean up for you. Do not try to sneak that vial in your pocket out of here.”

Dr. Hicks shrugged. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Victor will blame you, and nobody wants to break in your replacement.”

Dr. Hicks took the vial from her pocket and set it on the table next to Rowan’s body, then stripped off her gloves and lab coat and dropped them on the floor. She stomped out.

Mackinaw watched her go for a moment before sighing, turning around, and walking over to Gretta’s cell.

“The clean-up team will come through in a moment, and then I’ll get you some food and water,” he said.

“Go to hell,” she said.

He nodded toward the bucket. “You can’t have much left in you, and if you don’t at least drink, it could be bad for your health.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m surprised that you are worried about Subject 16. Did the other subjects die from dehydration?”

“Generally, they die from the acute exposure of brain matter to sunlight,” he said. “Some of your kind can be pretty tough and bounce back from nearly anything, but we’ve found that none of them survive brain removal.”

She nodded. “Why are you so worried about Rowan, then?”

“What do you know about Rowan Carter?” he asked.

“He was trying to protect a kid.” Gretta shrugged. “Other than that? I think he was a disciple of the Trickster god.”

Mackinaw’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

“I know that I’m not going to be able to afford rent and that sitting here isn’t helping my prospects for finding a waitressing gig.”

Four men rushed into the room wearing head-to-toe hazmat gear and pushing a cart. In less than three minutes, they had Rowan in a body bag with his organs in a bin marked Hazardous Waste. Two men wheeled out Rowan’s remains, and the other two began washing down the room. Three minutes later, the room smelled like chemical cleaners, the autopsy tools were bagged up, and there wasn’t a trace that Rowan had ever been there.

Mackinaw walked out after them and returned a few minutes later with a plastic water bottle and a candy bar.

“A little advice. Make jokes when you can.” Mackinaw slid the water bottle and the candy bar between the bars at Gretta. “There won’t be much to laugh about from here on out.”

When he left, the lights went out again, and Gretta sat in the dark, wondering how her life had led her to a cell. She stared at the outline of the water bottle and candy, trying to decide whether to take them.