00:05:47 until next jump.
The air hit them like refrigerated formaldehyde. Frost webbed the walls; overhead, sodium lamps buzzed in arrhythmic heartbeats. Rows of cryo-pods—hundreds of them—stood upright like chrome sarcophagi. Each lid was a one-way mirror: from the corridor you saw only yourself, but inside each pod a silhouette twitched in slow-motion dreams.
Cass's Core vibrated with a low, almost mournful pulse.
> LOCATION TAG: CAR 8 – MORGUE OF TOMORROW
PRIMARY FUNCTION: STORAGE OF PASSENGERS WHO HAVE NOT YET DIED
WARNING: CONTENTS MAY PRE-EMPTIVELY EXPIRE
Jun's breath fogged. "I dealt next door for decades and never knew this place existed."
Mara moved to the nearest pod. The nameplate shimmered, letters rearranging like living type:
MARA VALE – DECEASED 03:14:22 GMT, DAY 87
Mara recoiled. "That's forty-eight hours from now."
Whisper pressed her crayon to the glass. The silhouette inside mimicked the motion—then the outline aged, hair lengthening, face hollowing, until it matched the woman standing beside her.
A soft chime. All the pods slid open six centimeters at once. Cold mist poured out, carrying the scent of iron and lilies. Cass stepped between Mara and the gap, plasma cutter half-raised.
Nothing emerged. Instead, a voice—genderless, inflectionless—spoke from every pod in overlapping whispers.
> "Choose the corpse that will save you."
Cass's Core spat a second line:
> OBJECTIVE: IDENTIFY A "FUTURE BODY" WHOSE DEATH CAN BE TRADED FOR SAFE PASSAGE TO CAR 9
FAILURE PENALTY: ALL CURRENT PASSENGERS ENTER PODS IN 00:05:00
Jun swore. "We pick one of these poor bastards and they die for us?"
"Or we become them," Mara said, voice brittle.
00:05:21.
Cass moved down the aisle, reading the shifting plates:
- WHISPER – DECEASED 00:04:59
- JUN PARK – DECEASED 00:05:08
- CASS CALDER – DECEASED 00:05:15
All deaths within the next five minutes.
He stopped at an empty pod. The plate read:
"AUDITOR – DECEASED 00:00:00"
The glass was already shattered, jagged edges inward—as if someone had broken out rather than in.
A cold hand settled on Cass's shoulder. He spun. The Auditor stood behind him, porcelain mask cracked in the shape of an hourglass, gloved fingers stained with condensation.
"You cheated the Casino," the mask said, voice a file-shred of static. "Now pay the interest."
The pods slammed shut. Magnetic locks engaged with a hiss. Frost raced across the corridor floor, encasing their boots in seconds. Cass triggered the plasma cutter; the blade guttered, starved by the cryo-field.
Whisper did the unexpected: she walked straight to her own pod, pressed her small palm to the glass. The silhouette inside dissolved into swirling numerals—00:04:10… 00:04:09—then re-formed into a different child entirely, older, eyes wide with terror.
Whisper whispered back, too soft for microphones. The silhouette nodded.
The pod's lock disengaged with a soft click. The lid swung open, revealing only a folded sheet of paper and a small brass key.
Cass snatched both. The paper showed a crayon sketch: the Auditor's mask split in half, gears spilling out like entrails. Scrawled beneath:
"USE THE KEY ON THE CORONER."
00:03:58.
He lunged. The Auditor stepped back—too slow. Cass slammed the brass key into a slot hidden beneath the cracked chin of the mask. A mechanical clack. The porcelain faceplate popped free.
Behind it was not flesh, but a cavity of whirring clockwork and a single, wet human eye. The eye rolled, focusing on Cass with raw hatred.
The frost retreated from their boots. Every pod hissed open again, lids yawning like startled mouths.
The voice returned, now only from the Auditor's hollow throat:
> "Corpse selected. Exit granted."
Jun looked sick. "Who just died?"
The Auditor's body collapsed—gears spilling, eye deflating—until nothing remained except the mask and the key, now fused into a single, dripping coin.
Cass pocketed it. "The future that was supposed to watch us didn't happen. We killed tomorrow's watcher."
00:03:12.
At the far end of the morgue, a freight elevator— large enough for a coffin—descended with a soft ding. Its doors opened on darkness that smelled of ozone and lilies.
Mara stepped inside first. "Car 9 better be warmer."
Whisper followed, still clutching her blank crayon drawing. The sheet was no longer blank; the Auditor's mask had appeared on the page, cracked and bleeding numbers.
Cass pressed the button marked 9. The elevator began to rise— or maybe fall; direction felt negotiable here.
As the doors closed, he noticed a final pod near the elevator shaft. Its plate now read:
CASS CALDER – DECEASED 00:00:00
The silhouette inside was already missing an eye.
00:03:00.
The elevator lights cut out. In the pitch black, the only illumination was the soft red glow of the ceiling timer on Cass's wrist— counting down to a death that might have already happened.