consciousness fading, he felt the familiar chill of death approach. The last thing he recalled was standing on the rooftop, mocking his friend's bizarre luck. "Famous last words," he'd whispered, watching the sky turn an ominous shade of gray. Now, darkness enveloped everything, but not the pain. The world went silent, a stark contrast to the cacophony of his final moments.

He tried to move, to scream, but found his body unresponsive. His last thought was a cynical laugh. "Guess the universe really doesn't care about dead people."

Then, everything went black.

He awoke to a blinding light, which faded into a dim, flickering glow. The first thing he noticed was a throbbing headache. He groaned and sat up, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. Looking down, he saw hands that weren't his—old, wrinkled, and covered in scars. He blinked twice, then again.

"Am I dreaming?" he muttered, touching his face. The skin felt smooth, unmarked. He poked himself. No pain. Just... normal.