Mzlff || Mzlff || Koryakov

Over the years of her professional career, she'd seen a lot. She worked as a pathologist. Admittedly, the path to this profession wasn't the easiest. At first, the sight of the deceased evoked intense revulsion and fear, making her doubt her own choice. But, as often happens, over time, habit took its toll, dulling the impact of those first impressions.

Today, a young man lay on her desk. The cause of his supposed death was far simpler and more trivial than one might have expected—a sudden heart attack. According to the documents, Ilya felt a sharp pain in his chest and lost consciousness, and the arriving doctors pronounced him dead. A young, healthy man with no obvious chronic illnesses, it seemed fate had played a cruel joke on him. How early he had to go... Although, as we know, death does not discriminate by age, and its arrival can be sudden and merciless. Looking at his seemingly lifeless body, with its pale skin and frozen expression, the girl felt a pang of pity. She felt sorry for him, and for his parents, too, who would have to endure an irreparable loss. But the past cannot be changed, and her task was to establish the true causes of what had happened. She set to work.

Having prepared everything necessary—sterile instruments, gloves, a mask, and lighting equipment—she carefully laid them out on a metal table. Taking a thin, sharp scalpel, she began to draw it along the edge of his chest, preparing to make the first, decisive incision. At that very moment, as the blade touched the skin, the young man's eyes widened.

Ilya woke up right there on the operating table. The girl froze, her eyes widened, and her face instantly paled. The scalpel fell to the floor with a dull clink, reflecting her shock. Before her was not a lifeless corpse, but something in between—a living person, yet not yet fully aware of what was happening. He squinted in the bright light of the operating lamp, trying to focus.

—Where am I? What happened?