I think I'm dying.

For the second time. Y'know this is getting kind of old, really. The tightening in my chest, this feeling that there's literally a fucking elephant sitting on me. It's all so, drawn out. It hurts like a motherfucker don't get me wrong but it doesn't have the same kinda, gravitas to it the way getting blasted by five assholes with guns did. That time I didn't even have any kinda chance to come to terms with it. It just kinda happened and then there was nothing for a long, long time. Followed by me waking up behind a mask, a tool of the very people who killed me. Good times. I'm joking, it sucked more dick than a million Ghost Tanks. Now that's a scary thought, a thousand of that underachieving fuckboy? Nah, fuck that.

Jesus Christ this is boring. Never thought I'd say that about dying, but here I am. I'm not even clutching my chest anymore, that's what people do when they're having a heart attack, right? They grab their chest and flail about like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get an ambulance or something, hell if most of them expended half that energy on a consistent basis they might not have even been in that situation in the first place. Just a thought. Though I guess I'm not the only person whose heart fucking exploded after a coke binge so not all of them are in that boat.

I let myself fall onto my bed. If we're gonna talk about things that seem unlikely for my death, I gotta say I didn't expect to die in a nice hotel room. Definitely called cocaine induced cardiac arrest, hell I think Theo had that for his XWF Talent Death Pool, that time we decided to up the stakes and add in death conditions and shit. But a nice hotel room? Just a few days before yet another match with Peter Gilmour? Shit, next thing that'll happen is he'll take credit for killing me or something. Fucking idiot. How is he even still employed? That's what I gotta ask. Dude hasn't won a match that was worth anything on his own merits in this decade, right?

"This is some bullshit yo," I manage to choke out before I feel nothing. I see nothing. I'm still thinking though. This is weird. Last time it was everything off, like a light. Here, what's going on? Also, were those really my last words? Dammit, I thought they woulda been something cool like, I dunno, not that. Kinda whiny as far as last words go. Seriously, did my brain not get the fuckin' memo?! Lights out, prick. Game over. Wait, maybe not.

I feel something. My eyelids. I'm pressing them shut for whatever reason. Probably because I'm a melodramatic asshole. Yeah, that sounds about right. I open my eyes to see... nothing's changed. Just the same hotel room I thought I just died in but as it turns out, my body has something else in mind. That's pretty cool. Not being dead is better than being dead any day. Except Tax day. Fuck the IRS. Big Brother ain't gettin' my fuckin' money that's for sure!

"Ahem."

Oh shit I'm not alone. I sit up to see, standing at the foot of my bed, something out of a fuckin' movie. A figure, dressed in all black. Its face obscured behind some shroud of darkness. I swear if this is Sebastian Duke or something, I'm gonna punch a bitch. The figure shakes its head at me and steps around the foot of the bed, closer to where I lay. Now, I can see its face. It's familiar, on the tip of my tongue but I can't quite place it. Wait a second, is it? It may be!

"Morbid Angel?!"

The guy I could've sworn was Morbid Angel shakes his head and looks at me like I'm some kind of or something. Not my fault you like a giant piece of shit, dude.

"Just, shut up."

I only said two fuckin' words goddamn.

"You've said much more than that."

I know what I said and I only said two fuckin' words, what are you, some kind of mind reader or some shit?

"Yes."

"Oh, shit."

What an asshole, though. Not letting me know he can read minds from the get go. Rude as hell to let me start thinking a bunch of shit that's supposed to be in fucking confidence but really he's a mind reader so nothing's in confidence.

"Are you done?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, right. If I didn't know you could read minds, do you think I have any idea who you are? Shit man, I know people by what they do other than name anyway. Like my friend Theo, he's the man with the plan. And the money which I then use to buy coke and occasionally he's the dude who gives me something to do but that's normally because he wants me to fuck some asshole's day up and doesn't want to be connected to it or some shit. I dunno. What was I on about, again?"

"I have no idea. Just, be quiet."

I do that stupid mouth zipping gesture and he backs away from the bed for a second.

"You may call me Faust."

"Wait a second, isn't the guy who makes the deal with the devil named Faust? Not the devil himself, the fuck?"

"I'm not the Devil you buffoon."

"Alright. The guy I'm supposed to be fighting on Wednesday thinks he is sometimes, but then he also is a good Christian boy and sometimes he's fat as hell but then other times he gets liposuction to look like a crack whore and it's really confusing. So I just wanna make sure I got my bullshit right on Faust and shit."

"I am Faust."

"Yeah I got that now, what do you want?"

"I'm here to offer you your life."

"Okay, confused again. Faust is the guy who accepts the deal, he doesn't offer it."

"Oh my god forget about the other Faust."

"Oh my god, so you're not a demon! Haha! Peter Demonmour! Reveal yourself! Take off your stupid costume and show me that you're really Peter Gilmour!"

"You are literally the dumbest person I've ever met. I regret offering you your life back already. Congratulations."

Something about the dude's voice makes me think he's being for real right now. Which means he's never met Peter Gilmour so I don't think he has the proper experience to judge who is the dumbest person in the world.

"For someone being offered their life back, you don't seem too interested."

"Yeah, I kinda figured I was gonna come back to life somehow anyway."

"What?"

"I died once. Then I got brought back to life. I dunno, it's like there's some kind of indecisive god watching over me who delights in making sure my life makes absolutely no fucking sense."

"...Alright then. Do you even want your life back?"

"Yeah. I don't wanna die before I stomp Peter Gilmour's fucking head in again!"

"Granted."

"Just like that? No catch, no nothing?"

"Oh, I didn't say there wasn't a catch. No, Luca, some day--"

"And that day may never come?"

"No, that day will most certainly come are you dumb? Right, you are."

"You haven't seen the Godfather?"

Once again, he looks at me like I'm some kind of .

"I am a demon! I do not waste my time watching movies!"

"Sucks for you man. Great flick."

"As I was saying. Some day, I will need something of you. I will meet you in circumstances similar to this."

"You're gonna come back when I'm about to die of a cocaine induced heart attack?"

"I was getting there. No, not these exact circumstances. Hence similar. In order to ensure you fulfill your end of the bargain, I can't have you dying on me."

"So, I can live forever? And nothing can kill me?"

"Yes."

Fuck yeah! Faust or whatever the fuck his name is shakes his head at me, as if he knows what kind of ill shit I'm gonna do with this new ability as soon as he leaves.

Then everything goes black. Again.