The stainless-steel bone-shears snapped shut three inches from Julian’s chin.
CLACK.
The three faceless residents leaned over the cadaver cart. Their smooth wax heads trembled with mechanical anticipation.
Click-hiss. “Zero...” the synthesized chorus rasped through their chest grilles.
Click-hiss. `”Tariff... unpaid...”
“begin... anatomical reduction...”
Julian didn’t flinch. He didn’t step backward.
“Wait, residents,” Julian said, his voice ringing with deadpan retail calm. “Store policy allows a customer to present valid counter-tender before the transaction is closed.”
