As Tang opened it, the hinges groaned in protest. It was a terrible sound; like someone moaning in pain. He debated whether to close it, but knew that an open door would attract attention. Lifting up on the handle, he helped alleviate the pressure on the hinges and the door closed more quietly than it had opened. Even through his surgical mask, the inside of the infirmary smelled terrible. The only thing sterile about the place appeared to be its décor. The bare, concrete walls were unadorned and the floors were stained. With what, Tang could only imagine, but he had a pretty good idea. Based on the streaks that started at the door and led down the hall toward what must have been an examination room, there had probably been countless prisoners beaten, tortured, and then dragged bleeding into this building. The DPRK treated farm animals better than it did its prisoners. The smell, mixed with thoughts of the horrors this building had seen, turned his stomach. The first door Tang passed was labeled Doctor and was locked up tight.
