(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

“So if a Collector found a body... mine, for example... they might have
brought it here and sold it to you?”
Another nod.
Then I knew this Pharod after all, “So this Collector, Pharod... do you know
where I could find him?”
He sneered, as if disgusted by the idea of associating with a Collector, “I
know he resides in the Hive, the slums outside the Mortuary, but I do not
know exactly where. Some of the other Collectors may know, if they'll talk to
you.”
“Hey chief! You gonna rattle your bone-box all day or are you coming?”
I gave Soego a polite smile, “Thank you, Soego. I hope you feel better.”
He nodded and closed the gate behind me as I caught up with Morte.
“Chief, welcome to the center of the Multiverse.”
~~~~~~
Worming like blind maggots through a carcass of stone and iron, the
inhabitants of the Mortuary went about their tasks. Many paused, suddenly
uneasy, and for a moment few dared to tread the halls of the second floor.
Dhall, perhaps one of the oldest and most hardened of Dustmen beneath
Factol Skall himself, looked towards the southern preparation room. The
scratching of his quill ceased, as he wondered whether that bleak new void
that just appeared had come to claim him.
Ei-Vene’s stitching paused, blood and ichor trickling down the thread in misty
red pearls. Her dead-yellow eyes squinted, curious of this new thrumming
resonance of death and decay.
The key was suddenly cold in Soego’s hand as he twisted it in the lock.
Looking upwards to the floor above him, he caught an ancient, musty scent.
It was a familiar smell, something he came across every day in the Mortuary.
But to have it so close, like the brush of a dark mother’s talons, unseen and
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