In the multiverse:
Room X-12 – ICU. A crisp ding-ding split the silence. Then came the announcement:
Code Blue. ICU. Code Blue.
The hospital corridor burst to life. Shoes thundered against polished linoleum.
Nurses and specialists sprinted, weaving between rolling carts and swinging doors. All of them were heading for Room X-12, the eye of the storm.
A wall of muscle in a silver tie blocked the doorway. He stood tall, unmoving, with the calm menace of someone who didn't need to raise his voice to threaten.
"You have to save the boss at any cost," he said, voice low and deadly. If he dies… every last one of you will go into the ground with him.
The surgical team halted. Breath caught. Palms sweated. But one woman stepped forward.
Dr. Kristi Theryn Solace, head of surgery. At just 26, she was already a name spoken in reverent tones in hospitals across the country. Brilliant, beautiful, and utterly unshakable. Her eyes, sharp and blue as Ocean, faced him without blinking.
We're doing everything we can, she said. But we aren't God to guarantee his life and if you want him alive, get out of my way.
A moment passed. Then the man stepped aside.
Kristi didn't wait for permission. She surged forward, white coat flaring behind her like a battle flag. The team followed her into the room.
And there he was. Ciliano Malric Moreaux on life support...
An International tech icon. Billionaire by 22. Now 29, still absurdly handsome, draped in whispered rumors, unsolved disappearances, underworld ties that no one could cover.
But none of that mattered now with blood flooding the linens. His chest rose, shallow and slowing. Each beat of his failing heart pumping him closer to death.
"Vitals are crashing!" a nurse shouted.
BP's sixty over nothing! another called.
Kristi's voice cut through the panic: Get me the thoracotomy tray. We're cracking him open.
The team snapped into motion. Gloves on. Tools out. The room a blur of practiced chaos.
Dr. Elaine Zhang took the head, intubating with clinical speed. Dr. Patel scrubbed and prepped the chest, hands flying.
"Scalpel."
Kristi didn't hesitate. She sliced through skin with surgical precision. Blood spilled hot and fast.
"Sternal saw."
The bone screamed under the metal's bite. A second later, it split.
And then, the heart twitched. A fragile flutter second before the heart stopped.
Tut...tut...tut... Flat line! someone whispered...
"Charge to twenty. Internal paddles...clear!" kristi barked.
They shocked him. The body jolted. Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
Kristi dropped the paddles. Without a word, she reached in and took the heart in her hands. It was slick, too warm, disturbingly quiet.
She began compressions manually, palms squeezing the heart like it owed her money.
"Come on," she murmured.
The monitor stayed flat. A line of silence. Sweat slipped down her temple.
"Five minutes of asystole," Zhang said, barely audible. We've done all we can.
Arno stared down at the heart. Her arms shook. She finally let it go.
The organ slumped back into place, still... Ten minutes has passed.
Call it, someone said. Time of-
Wait, a nurse interrupted. We've got something…
Beep. The room froze.
Beep… beep… beep.
A slow, irregular rhythm blinked across the monitor.
"Pulse is back!" Dr. Patel shouted. It's weak, but he's back!
The team leapt back into motion, securing lines, closing vessels, stabilizing vitals with near-religious focus.
But Dr. Kristi stood still. She watched the screen, expression unreadable. Her hands were streaked in blood. Her gloves trembled.
Something had just happened...something she couldn't explain. She didn't believe in miracles. She believed in procedure. In science. In numbers and cold steel.
But Ciliano Moreaux was dead. And now… miraculously he is back!
Across the room, the man in the silver tie, silent through the chaos gave her a long, knowing look.
Then he nodded before walking away.
Dr. Kristi didn't move for a while.
She just watched the monitor flash, slow and uneven, but undeniably alive.
---
[Mission successful. Mission successful]
An annoying sound kept ringing in my ears. It sounded like Siri's weirder cousin had hijacked my skull.
[The soul has successfully transmigrated into the billionaire body on Multiverse]
I groaned. What the hell just happened? I mumbled, voice dry and hoarse. And who's talking so loudly? Can someone please lower the volume in my brain?
"You ungrateful brat," said a glittery, smug voice. You're now talking to me... Pokolo the fairy, directly in the void!
Before I could say anything she continued, You're welcome, by the way. I just gave you a brand-new body in another world! Ain't I amazing?
I blinked. Or at least I tried to. Everything was dark. And loud. My head felt like someone had replaced my brain with a blender full of soda cans.
Oh, let's settle the damn score right now! I snapped. Aren't YOU the reason I'm dead?! You're the one who turned me into a mosquito and told me to go bite my ex!
"To be fair," Pokolo said, completely unfazed, you asked for revenge. I gave you a cool transformation. You were sleek, stealthy, aerodynamic-!
You forgot to tell me I had only 24 HOURS TO LIVE AS A BUG! I shouted. And then I got slapped to death! SLAPPED! By some random gym bro out on his nightly protein jog!
She snorted. Okay, okay, my bad. Little oversight on my part. But hey- look at the bright side! You died… so I gave you the Premium Transmigration Package as compensation. Now you're in a new, powerful body. Congrats!
Compensation?! You call this compensation?! Where am I even!
"Oh, minor detail," she said airily. The body you're in now was shot multiple times. He's in the ICU. Might still be bleeding. But hey! Before he got full of holes, he was a rich, successful CEO. Tall, handsome with major assets. A real upgrade from your mosquito form, if I do say so myself.
WAIT...SHOT?! I screamed. You gave me a corpse with bullet holes?! You could've at least put me in someone less… ventilated!
Relax. You're technically still alive, she said cheerfully. Anyway, I'm off! I've got a jellybean spa appointment. If you need help, just chant my name: Pokolo. Toodles!
"No, WAIT! YOU CAN'T JUST DITCH ME HERE! HOW DO I EVEN..."
Boom. She disappeared. One sparkle fart and she was gone.
Silence, darkness, machine beeping. My internal monologue and heart rate were having a competition to see who could panic harder.
Okay, okay… I can do this, I whispered. Let's review. I'm Ciliano Chakma. Died in my world after getting slapped to death in mosquito form.
Now I've… transmigrated? Or possessed someone's body?
I paused.... Wait. Did I just inherit someone else's face? Oh God. What if he's bald?
I tried to move my hand, maybe feel my head. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. Was this body even connected to Wi-Fi?
My hand won't move, I muttered, panic rising. I can't feel it.
I tried wiggling my toes. Nope. Nada. Limp noodles.
"THE HELL?!" I screamed inside my brain. AM I PARALYZED?!
Oh wait...ICU. Right, bullet holes. Pokolo mentioned that part. The original owner of this body had been lead-perforated like a block of Swiss cheese.
Still, the beeping nearby was rhythmic. Probably not the death alarm, then. Small win.
I was exhausted. My whole body, what little I could feel of it felt like it had been tossed into a dryer on spin cycle. And yet, my brain was wired, zipping from panic to confusion to dread.
Who had this guy been? A CEO, sure. But was he a good CEO? Or one of those weirdos who insulted interns and kept a katana in the office for motivation?
And… wait. What if he had enemies? I whispered. Powerful ones wiith guns?
Oh god. What if the people who shot him weren't finished yet?
I swear, I muttered, as sleep dragged me into its depths, if I get killed again before breakfast, I'm suing that fairy!
And then, darkness took me again, but this time, with the terrifying realization that I might've gone from mosquito… to meat shield.
---
Next time I'm offered a quest… I swear to God, I'm reading the terms and conditions.
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