Maxwell stops and presses himself flat against a wall when a cadaver approaches. He stands completely still and studies its decay as it moves past him, oblivious. It has sustained appalling injuries, as if its unprotected face has been smashed into something at force. Its bottom lip is split down to the chin, and there are yellowed teeth protruding from its broken jaw at unnatural angles. Its swollen brown tongue moves constantly around the inside of its mouth. No spit. Too dry to lick. Maxwell stays exactly where he is for a moment longer, feeling faint. It’ll pass, he knows it will. It’s just shock.
The smells begin to affect him more than the sights. There’s an ever-present fug of death hanging in the air here, a noxious stench which seems to coat everything. He’s wearing a basic facem
