I have always wanted to become a pathologist. Since childhood I have been obsessed with thought of working in a morgue. It isn't a symptom of madness. I'm just deeply interested in human body's processes. My dream was to come true soon.

The first day of work came fast. My boss, 56-year-old greedy pathologist, told me that as for such a good student, awarded with some many prizes , I could perform my first autopsy today. While standing next to the table with young girl’s corpse on it, I was terrified for a moment, but soon that feeling disappeared and I started my job. When I was sawing through her chest, I realised something was wrong. I could swear she moved a little bit, but as long as I was watching her, not a single twitch ran through her body. Suddenly, she vomited a gallon of blood onto my new uniform. I was petrified with fear and emetic stench.
Her body temperature was low and she was all pale, so she must have been dead. But she was squirming on the autopsy table. She was dead. But not dead enough. All out of sudden, my left hand exploded with pain. When I looked down, I saw that she’s biting me. I grabbed my bonesaw from the table and ripped her head in few brutal hits.

Barely standing on my feet, I ran to my boss’s room to tell him what just happened.
I came too late, he was lying on the floor in a puddle of blood with his head crashed and face eaten out.
End of part I