Operation JOE, Part 3

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People ask me what it’s like to die, but fortunately I haven’t a clue.  I never remember what it’s like, and I mean that literally. My ability to form new memories gets turned off, probably because it likely hurts like a sonofabitch to have your soul forcibly held on this plane of existence while a new body that might or might not be made from your corpse is woven around you. Which is probably prudent; God forbid that I develop any kind of psychological trauma from the death/resurrection process.  I mean that literally, too. Nobody wants somebody like me to go insane.

What I do get out of the process is a collection of buzzing auditory hallucinations, the uniquely disconcerting feeling that my arteries have a thin coating of honey, and the embarrassing realization that some asshole just killed me. Me.  That’s not how it’s supposed to work!  I think that the reaction is designed to get me ready to go over and kill the asshole right back, but I don’t know.  It might be a normal response for somebody in my circumstances.

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