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Michael lay on the pavement. He was in pain before, but not now. The ground was soft and the blood that had been collecting in his mouth was gone. The memory of a metallic taste lingered. Where were all the cars? What was going on? A blind panic was taking hold, or at least he thought it would be. When he looked for it, it was not there, instead only calmness akin to a dream. It was as if he was disconnected from his circumstance. He couldn't get a handle on why he felt so at ease. It was disconcerting how unbewildered he was. Michael was dead. Being dead, he was tasked with carving out a new life on secondworld. He also had questions. How did he die? Was he murdered? Did it matter? And why were bodies now turning up by the canal?

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