[Fantastic’s limp corpse is laid to rest inside of a tank filled with pink fluid. He floats in it. It smells faintly of copper.]
[Upon closer inspection, it is not uniform. Tiny clumps of cells float hither and thither like sand particulates in a river. They begin to swirl towards his dead body, crawling inside of his wounds, forcibly implanting themselves into the walls of his rotting organs. They will not let him stay dead.]
[They knit themselves into his body. And they live, although he does not. Life pumps through them and a reverse necrosis sets in as the stem cells copy him, enveloping his bloated corpse in LIFE, in LIFE, slowly eating the dead cells and replacing them.]
[All at once, his body lives. By force. Each tendon is pumped, his eyes immediately take in years worth of visual sensations despite being closed, he hears everything he has ever heard, all at once, and his heart beats at the same time his lungs contract, at the same time his duodenum pulses, at the same time his liver floods his body with signals, at the same time every neuron in his brain fires simultaneously, at the same time all 13 trillion of his nerves register existing, at the same time every single lymph node ejects all their T cells, at the same time his kidneys release their fluid, at the same time his stomach flushes with acid and his pancreas tries to stop it. It is the sensation of every life function at once. Every possible feeling, every thought, in a nanosecond. But he grasps none of it. All he can feel of these are the Pain. And the overwhelming Sensation of Living.]
[He inhales the pink fluid but does not drown. The cells just enter his bronchioles, swelling them and filling his lungs.]
[The Life inside the tank is excited to have a new member! Smaller pieces clump together once again, trying to form eyes—they look more like a cluster of bubbles than anything, not perfectly round, stuck together, and wobbly—and a few hands with the wrong amounts of fingers try to embrace him.]
[He tries to scream but all that comes out is a guttural groan. He tries to bang on the glass, but he can barely get any of his hands to cooperate. His nerves are on fire. His mind, if you could even call it that, is jumbled but all it wants is to be Let Out. He cries but the tears are swept away.]
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