Harald, a young medical student, was making his way towards his first dissection class. He had arrived early, knowing that the basement was a maze where one could easily get lost. The air was cool and carried a faint, sterile scent mixed with something else—formalin, perhaps. It was oddly quiet, save for the distant hum of ventilation.

  There was a lot at stake for Harald on a personal level. This was a point of no return in a doctor's career. It was intimidating because it was so against modern man's nature. At the same time, if he couldn't handle this, he might as well give up the dream of becoming a doctor.

  They were extremely lucky and privileged that a living person had agreed to donate their body after their passing—just so they could learn, study human anatomy, and ultimately become good doctors capable of saving lives.

  Will I still be the same me? he wondered.

  On his way, Harald ran into his friend and dissection partner, Marcus.

  "You're looking nervous, my friend. It's okay. They've given us the ultimate gift so we can become the best," Marcus reassured him.

  "Yeah, you're right," said Harald, exhaling slowly.

  "And to be honest, I'm really looking forward to doing this with you, dude. We're the dream team!" Marcus grinned, giving Harald a light punch on the shoulder.

  Feeling much better, the pair walked through the giant metal doors and into the changing rooms, where they were joined by the other medical students. The air inside was thick with a mix of tension and quiet excitement. Some whispered in hushed voices, while others silently focused on the task ahead. The faint rustling of paper echoed as students consulted their notes one last time.

  "We should plan exactly which structures we want to look at today. It'll make everything easier—it gives meaning to the situation," Harald said.

  Marcus nodded in agreement.

  They began their ritual of preparation:

  "Coat, check. Gloves, check. Scalpel, scissors, and forceps, check. Glasses, check."

  With their equipment ready and determination steeling their nerves, they stepped forward into the unknown, ready to cross the threshold of theory into practice.

  The dissection hall was colder than Harald had expected. The fluorescent lights hummed above, casting a stark, sterile glow over the gleaming metal tables. The cadaver lay before them, carefully preserved, its stillness somehow heavier than death itself.

  Harald swallowed hard. This was it.

  "Alright," Marcus said, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Let's get to work. Scalpel?"

  Harald nodded, picking up the instrument. His hands were steady—surprisingly so. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He pressed the blade against the preserved skin, prepared to make the first incision.

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  And that's when Marcus, unable to resist, leaned in way too close and murmured, "You know, sometimes the muscles twitch post-mortem…"

  The worst possible thing happened.

  Harald flinched. His foot caught on the metal frame of the table. He stumbled, hands flying out for balance, but in his panic, he accidentally kicked the small stool behind him. It rolled out from under him, sending him backward in a perfect, slow-motion catastrophe.

  His head connected with the edge of the adjacent table. Hard.

  A terrible silence fell over the room.

  Marcus stared, frozen in horror. The other students turned, their expressions shifting from mild concentration to pure, wide-eyed shock.

  "Harald?" Marcus called hesitantly.

  Harald didn't answer.

  Marcus nudged him with his foot. Still nothing.

  "Oh, no."

  One of the instructors hurried over, checking for a pulse. The silence stretched unbearably until the professor finally straightened, pulling off his gloves with a sigh. "Well," he said, rubbing his temple, "this is ironic."

  Marcus blinked. "Is he…?"

  "Very," the instructor confirmed.

  And with that, Harald—once a promising medical student—became the newest addition to the dissection hall.

  Harald's last memory was the cold, sterile glow of fluorescent lights. The sudden snap of rigor mortis. His own panicked stumble.

  Then—nothing.

  Until...

  Harald stood in a vast, endless void stretched in all directions, yet beneath his feet lay something solid but unseen, keeping him from drifting away. Above him, physics defying monoliths floated - impossibly large structures etched with shifting symbols.

  Before him, a panel of entities watched in silence.

  Some looked human, robed in celestial fabric, their eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. Others were beings of pure data, shifting geometric constructs held together by flickering light. And some were indescribable, flickering between existence and nonexistence, their very presence warping the space around them.

  A voice—not spoken, but directly imprinted into his mind—finally broke the silence.

  "Candidate, you are now before the Council of Migration."

  Harald's mouth went dry. His brain lagged behind the words. Council? Migration? Candidate?

  "Earth is approaching its integration into the Multiversal Convergence. You have been selected to establish its foothold. You will lay the foundations of civilization before the rest of your species arrives."

  A different voice, sharper and mechanical, cut in.

  "Your assets have been analyzed. Biological resources acquired: 20 humanoid units. Status: Non-living. Adjusting parameters..."

  Harald blinked. "Wait. What?"

  The tribunal continued as if his protest didn't matter.

  "Succeed, and your world gains a strong foundation in the Multiverse. Fail, and Earth will enter as a formless vassal state—ripe for subjugation."

  Harald felt his stomach drop. "You're telling me… if I mess this up, Earth loses its chance to be independent?"

  "Affirmative."

  Another entity, this one draped in a shifting cloak of star charts and what seemed to be mathematical equations, spoke.

  "As per protocol, your assigned assets have been selected."

  The voice resonated with absolute certainty—cold, unquestionable.

  "The deceased from your dissection hall shall accompany you. Their knowledge and skills will serve as the foundation for your civilization."

  Harald barely had time to comprehend those words.

  The void beneath him shuddered. A low, reverberating hum filled the air, as if the universe itself had exhaled. Then, without warning, space fractured. A crack of pure light tore open beneath his feet, a swirling rift of unfathomable depth.

  "Begin transfer."

  Gravity returned with vengeance. Harald felt the pull—sudden, inescapable.

  He plummeted into the unknown.

  As he fell, he caught a final glimpse of the Tribunal watching in silence—distant, indifferent, absolute.

  Then, from above, something else followed.

  The cadavers.

  They tumbled after him, their forms eerily weightless in the void. Some were frozen in poses of quiet repose, others stiff and rigid from preservation. And yet, somehow, they seemed… deliberate. As if even in death, they knew they had a role to play.

  Harald barely had time to scream before the world swallowed him whole.