II

Faust wasn't exactly obsessed with death, but he had spent a lot of nights lying awake and fantasising about what it might be like, and now he no longer needed to fantasise.

Chiefly: would it hurt? Saheel's rock tore his body apart at an atomic level before he even perceived it. Like a mugger in a crowd, it bumped him once and then it was stolen, his senses snuffed out. So no, it didn't hurt, but it wasn't exactly peaceful either. There was no angelic choir to serenade him, no relatives to usher him into a group hug, nor was there a judge to weigh his sins against his virtues. There was only light, and it was blinding.

Faust would have felt adrift if there were anything to drift in. He would have felt cold, untethered as he was from the steady 37 degree heat of his body, but there was no part of him left to feel, no eyes, no ears, no skin. So be it, he thought, and tried as he had in life to take refuge in memories and daydreams. But without a brain to store and retrieve information, he couldn't conjure up any more than distant colours and flashing lights, and the shreds of memory that did pass him were bewildering in his delirium.

The only part that remained was his thumb, impossible to destroy against the rules of the game, but he couldn't perceive it or the word count next to it. While Faust had always found pleasure in being left alone, he now began to feel very lonely, for he was separated from even himself, and it crushed him. Was all he had left a scrap of consciousness that could only observe its own pain?

It was the fever dream to end all fever dreams. All fevers pass and all dreams end, but this -- this was nothing, forever. Ages would pass and trillions stream into the land of the dead, and humans would consume their environment in totality. Even as the last woman starved among the rubble and the Earth spun as an empty cemetery, forever would only just be getting started.

Time passed, but it might as well have stopped. Nothing happened to Faust, save the fluctuation of his thoughts that were too airy to anchor him to any kind of memory. They twisted around, repeating themselves, and they were worse than any of those nights he'd spent staring at the ceiling.

What an idiot he'd been. Forever was a staggeringly long time, and it wasn't worth a few fleeting moments of happiness, no matter how deserving the recipient, no matter how heroic the sacrifice. He'd been halfway there in his conclusions that it wasn't right to force someone else to die so that he could live, because he'd touched on how unique a gift life was. He'd just been too stupid to see that he deserved to live too.

There were no second chances; no seconds. But if he had one, just one, he knew what he would do. He'd rally against the game and break it, find a way for him and Connie to both live, because neither of them deserved this. In his head, he laughed. These must have been the exact conclusions he'd gone through when drifting alone in the other afterlife as the other Faust.

Deciding that he was worth saving was but a small comfort. Even as the last stars in the universe twinkled out, and everything drifted apart, leaving an empty black canvas for the next painter, Faust would still be grappling with these regrets. A second chance -- if only!

1Y; INSUFFICIENT MAJORITY, INVALID PERMISSION

The words bounced around his mind. Connie was still out there, and just knowing that, feeling her warm presence defy the piercing brightness, that made all the difference.

Connie, he screamed. But there was no part of him to scream.

1Y; INSUFFICIENT MAJORITY, INVALID PERMISSION

He tried in vain to feel his thumb, to twist it up, but it was just like being a thirteen year old again, wishing he had spirit wings and trying to feel them and unfurl them and fly. This time, though, it was him that wasn't real.

1Y; INSUFFICIENT MAJORITY, INVALID PERMISSION

Connie! Alas, he was paralysed. No second chance would come. If he could have smiled, he would. Those cold words felt warmer than a hug to him, and would slot into his carousel of thoughts to comfort him through the eons.

Obviously, a second chance soon came. Memories poured into him like boiling water into a flask. They weren't things Faust often remembered.

He remembered riding the steam train with his grandpa, going into the cabin, shovelling coal into the furnace, their faces stained with sweat and soot as pine needles blurred past outside.

He remembered playing chess with Deadward in the pub, the tangy smell and taste of lager, the thick smattering of laughter filling the room, and the soft crunch of heather under their feet as they stumbled back home.

He remembered opening up his vocal chords with a great rush of air and filling the auditorium with a long, sustained note, the firm handshakes from the judges as they wrote the prize cheque, their eyes twinkling in admiration.

Faust opened his eyes, for his body was back together, and he felt unreservedly happy, proud to be alive and proud of having lived. He stroked his beard as he looked around at the emptiness. His thumb lit up again. Connie!

2Y; INVALID PERMISSION

Energy pulsed out of his finger in two directions. One, far off into the horizon, and one straight down in front of him. There lay the most pathetic creature he'd ever seen, smaller and weaker than a premature foetus, its skin the same consistency as dog shit. It had his eyes. Slowly, it raised a tiny malformed hand -- thumbs up.

"Thank you," said Faust, beaming. "From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Take me to Connie!"

2Y; INVALID PERMISSION

The energy went from his thumb to the foetus, but bounced off its skin, repelled.

"Why isn't it working?"

2Y; INVALID PERMISSION

A greater blast shot towards his doppelganger, to much the same effect, like waves breaking upon a rock. Faust felt that whatever it had done to save him had come with an irreversible cost. He groped about his pockets for his phone, but he had neither that, the communication tile, or the double-edged sword.

The wordcount on his hand glowed green.

"Restore the flesh mound?" asked Faust. "Will that work?"

1Y 1N; INSUFFICIENT MAJORITY

Connie had voted no -- was she in trouble? He scooped up the foetus in his sleeve, careful not to touch it, for who knows where the memories would go now, and set out in Alan MacCain's direction full of energy, joy, and life.