He didn't feel fear when he died. No panic, no struggle, no regret just the sharp, clinical end of sensation. Like flipping a switch and knowing exactly what you were doing. Then silence. Not peaceful. Not empty. Just blank like reality was waiting for something to load.
When awareness returned, he was standing. Barefoot. Whole. Wearing the same uniform he died in, though it bore no blood, no tears, no damage. The floor beneath him didn't exist in any real sense no texture, no sound when he shifted his weight. Light had no source here, yet everything could be seen clearly. Not with eyes, but with being.
A sound broke the stillness soft, padded footsteps crossing invisible space. A large black dog emerged from the edge of his vision and approached, steady and calm. It moved like something that didn't need to move, doing so only for effect. Its fur didn't shine. Its eyes were metallic and impossibly still. It sat down a few paces away and stared.
"You died," it said. Its voice wasn't deep or otherworldly just present, like a thought that didn't ask permission to form.
Viktor didn't answer. He simply stood, analyzing. There was nothing to panic about. That part of him had been cut out a long time ago.
"You're not going back," the dog continued. " No one's waiting for your return. Your chapter has been marked complete."
That, too, was expected. He didn't nod, didn't show anything beyond silent agreement. The dog tilted its head slightly, as if that calm intrigued it.
"You've been selected," it said. "Placement. Not reward. Not punishment. Just… forward movement."
Viktor's voice was steady. "Where?"
"To Rick and Morty."
A pause. The only change in his expression was internal. He knew the name. Knew the world. Fictional, absurd, brilliant—designed like a joke, delivered like a scream. A place where logic went to die, and gods disguised themselves as scientists. But he didn't scoff. He'd operated in stranger theaters.
"As who?" he asked.
The dog's eyes didn't blink. "Morty."
There was no sarcasm in its tone. Just fact. But Viktor studied it for a beat longer, processing.
"Which dimension?"
The dog's mouth curled—not a smile, not even amusement. Just the gesture of it. "Wouldn't you like to know."
It wasn't evasive. It was dismissive. A game not worth spoiling.
"You get one perk," it said after the silence settled again.
Viktor didn't need time to think. "I want to appear exactly as Morty Smith did. Before I got there."
The dog regarded him for a moment longer. "Explain exactly."
"Everything. Voice. Face. Soulprint. Energy. DNA. Memory imprint, Quantum flux. If they check me at a molecular level, I'm Morty. If Rick poke me with every device he had I'm still Morty. I don't want to seem like him. I want to be him, as far as the universe understands."
The dog gave a long blink, almost slow enough to be a nod. "Done."
The floor beneath him trembled not violently, but like a deep breath shifting through foundation. Viktor's body began to change not like flesh molding, but like something far subtler. The weight of him thinned, the air around him folded inward, and before his eyes, the outline of Viktor Barinov began to blur.
He didn't resist. He just let it happen. Watching with interest, not awe.
The dog stood, expression unreadable. "You'll remember everything. They won't."
Viktor glanced at his hands already thinner, smoother, smaller. The bones realigning silently, identity falling away like ash.
"Then I'll use it. Like l always have."
The dog didn't answer. The space behind him cracked, a silent, spreading fracture in nothingness. Light peeled through not warm, not holy, just necessary.
And just as the void began to pull him in, the dog spoke one last time its tone unreadable, almost bored, almost reverent.
"Let's see what happens… when Morty stops being Morty."
And becomes what he was meant to be
Then everything broke.
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