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Workin' in this city's morgue is about as much fun as a barrel of dead mobsters, really. You've got your Cipher Killer to the left, choking and shooting and drowning all kinds of people. You've got your dirty cops to your right, with their convenient excuses of 'He just fell, is all. Fell on all those bullets.' And in the middle? Well, in the middle you've got just about anyone who wants to trick, rob or stab their own grandmother for another handful of scratch in their pockets.

You end up signing off reports nobody's going to read unless they actually want to know what happened to a body, which is rare, and working your fingers to the bone in...well, in people's bones and guts and blood.

And you know what you get for your troubles and long hours? Nothing.

Nothing but chickenfeed pay, little to no respect, an ulcer in your gut and - if you're lucky - you get to retire with a twitch and a case of the 'not dead yets.'

You wouldn't need just luck to make it to retirement age alive doing this job in Obsidian City. You'd need a miracle.