Meanwhile, in a hospital somewhere in South Africa, a nurse let out an exhausted breath as she stood before a patient who had passed mere minutes ago.
The doctor and other nurses had just left, leaving her in charge of covering the body and handing it over to people who'd take it to the morgue.
It was a rather sad case.
The patient was a homeless woman involved in a hit-and-run. No known family. No names. No friends or partners. No pets.
Nothing.
Now what remained was an empty husk who'd probably lived life hoping for a change one day.
"God rest your soul," the nurse whispered, making the sign of the cross. "You deserved better."
With a heavy heart, she began pulling up the sheets to cover her—
—It had just gotten to her face when a cold, vice-like grip clamped around her wrist, punching the breath out of her lungs.
"Blood of Jesus!" The nurse screamed, eyes blown wide as they fell on the once lifeless hand now clinging to her.
