You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

The second basement level houses the morgue of the sanatorium.

The temperature here remains below 10 degrees Celsius year-round, and the air is filled with the pungent smell of a mixture of formaldehyde and Freon refrigerant.

Several rows of stainless steel refrigerated cabinets stood against the wall, and on the metal dissection table in the center, lay a lifeless female corpse.

Alex, now wearing a white plastic overcoat, was bending over, holding a UV scanner and a tape measure, skillfully checking the routine physical characteristics of the corpse before it was bagged.

"Wristband ID: 90442. Name: Sarah. Cause of death: End-stage cardiopulmonary failure due to cystic fibrosis."

After checking the plastic tag on his wrist, Alex reached out and pinched the body's jaw and neck muscles.

"Rigoletto has begun to spread. There are no obvious external injuries, and no red flags indicating infectious hepatitis or HIV."

He was checking the data while reciting it aloud.

Standing to the side, Irina was expressionless, holding a cardboard clipboard in her hand, and rapidly ticking off the forms with her ballpoint pen.

She also needs to issue a three-part receipt confirming the body has been safely received, which should be left on the desk in the morgue as proof of the nursing home's expense settlement.

Alex's gaze swept over the female corpse.

As a seriously ill patient who had been bedridden for many years, the condition of this corpse was extremely poor.

The deceased appeared to be no more than thirty years old, but due to long-term illness, the fat on both sides of her cheeks had been completely lost, her cheekbones were high and protruding, and her eye sockets were sunken.

The most obvious one is her