Conditional
You crack open the ammonia ampoule and breathe in. The odour of death is still stronger. It's a spell of the mind telling you to run -- and your stomach to wring itself empty. With your eyes squinting you stand in it.
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You crack open the ammonia ampoule and breathe in. The odour of death is still stronger. It's a spell of the mind telling you to run -- and your stomach to wring itself empty. With your eyes squinting you stand in it.
As you breathe in, the odour comes over you. It's a spell of the mind telling you to run -- and your stomach to wring itself empty. With your hands at your sides and your eyes squinting you stand in it.
The smell is repulsive. It pushes in from your mouth, more instant and more familiar than anything you'd expected; more fever than odour. It fills your mind, flushing you from within.
The smell is repulsive. It pushes in from your mouth, more instant and more familiar than anything you'd expected; more fever than odour. It fills your mind, flushing you from within.
The corpse appears to laugh at you, black froth bubbling on it's lips. Every molecule in this body reeks of death. It's still too much, you feel it coming up again...
The corpse appears to laugh at you, black froth bubbling on it's lips. Every molecule in this body reeks of death. It's still too much, you feel it coming up again...
The ammonia only makes it worse! The combination forces tears out of your ducts. You manage to keep it in once...
You try to -- very professionally -- look at the corpse, but your stomach contracts. You manage to keep it in once...