The stainless-steel dissection forceps pinched the edge of the translucent sheet, lifting it from the black iron bars of the chute grate.
Dr. Victor Corvo moved with the solemn, deliberate care of an anatomical conservator handling a fragment of dead parchment.
The sheet dangled in the cold amphitheater air, dripping thin beads of chemical formalin and residual white lime onto the porcelain floor. It was perfectly rectangular, twelve inches long by eight inches wide, with edges so clean, sharp, and straight they looked trimmed by an industrial paper guillotine in a bindery.
Corvo turned toward Table #1.
Mounted flush into the center of the white porcelain dissection slab sat a recessed glass lightbox. Backlit by twin cold-cathode tubes, the 1960s inspection panel was built for reading full-torso X-ray film.
Corvo clicked the lightbox toggle switch on the table rim.
A clean, glare-free white light flooded upward through the frosted glass, cutting through the shadows of the amphitheater.
With two pairs of sterile thumb forceps, Corvo carefully laid the translucent sheet flat across the illuminated glass, smoothing out the tiny wrinkles until the material rested completely flat against the cold surface.
