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When you die, that's just supposed to be it. No upbeat, no grand pause, just. Game over. Life over.

"I could have died!" Fiora had said to Shulk there in the weapons lab, and she'd meant it. That Monado thing of yours could have cut a hole in my stomach, and I could have died. No, I would have died. That would have been curtains, kaput, ka-blammo for me.

It's what she says to Dunban too: if you don't eat your soup, and exercise your muscles, and get your strength up, you'll die. The same goes for if you over-exert yourself. Now, Fiora's no worry-wart - wasn't, anyway, because she's dead, isn't she? - but she certainly does know cut from dry.

She knows when Reyn takes one too many hits to that hard head of his, he's going to go down, and in a bad way. She also...should be able to tell when Shulk's been overly neglectful of his diet and intake of vitamins and sunlight, and all that, but sometimes he just seems to bounce right back. Odd. But then, Shulk's always been an odd one. He and she and Reyn make up a team of odd ones, then, don't they?

But even the oddest, scrappingest little kids have to be careful. Dunban's arm got wrecked up the way it did because he was so reckless, because he acted like no matter what he did at Sword Valley he'd always come back victorious - and if he didn't, that somehow it would be worth it! Can you imagine?!

Can you? Because...well. It's funny, isn't it. Perhaps more on that later. The point now is, Fiora always thought she had a very firm grasp on what it meant to die. As firm as a person could have, that is, without actually experiencing it. Her hope was that it would be painless, more or less. That if anything came through strong enough to kill her, it would put her out instantly. No fear, no pain, no sorrow, just...gone.

So why, when that horrible faced Mechon put his awful, gruesome, gory, disgusting claws straight through the mobile artillery and into the very pit of her stomach, piercing her appendix scar and her belly button and the circle of soft flesh right between the crest of her ribs and all, each place just barely covered at the corners by the stout leather of her outfit, didn't she blink out of existence? Just like that?

Maybe I can remember, bits and pieces. The blood came...so fast. It hurt less when it - he? how do I know he's a he? who is he, again? - jammed the claws in than when it pulled them out. Like how a balloon won't pop, or leak, if it's full of water, until you pull the pencil out. But who pops balloons with pencils?

Come to think of it, who stabs girls with rusty claws? God, that's atrocious. And see, I wish I didn't know about it. But here I am. Somehow, I'm alive to know about it.

That's not good.

But, I suppose if I'm to figure out any of what's going on, I'll have to keep thinking. Keep going. On and on and on and on and on...

I remember pulling my knees in to my chest, to stop the...the everything. To stop my insides from falling out. Why did I do that? If I was going to die, then surely it'd be faster if my heart just fell out of my stomach, or whatever.

If I was going to die. Not if I am. Because apparently the time for that is long gone.

My knees wouldn't come in fast enough, and my nerves were all messy and stinging, so I rolled over and pressed my body against the wall of the cabin. It was hot, and dirty, and I hated it, but it was an instinct. The fastest one I had.

Will I miss being alive? The feeling of chewing Chewy Radishes and petting Happy Rabbits' fur? I wonder what animals think about when they die. Do they even really know?

Am I just an animal? To the Mechon, I am. Just a pesky little creature. Like a fly. All of us. And to the Bionis, we must be - if the Bionis is a great big creature.

How did the Bionis feel, when it died? And if the Mechon are alive, then the Mechonis must have felt something too?

Gosh. I never knew dying could make you think so much. I never thought I'd have the time.

"Fiora..."

Fiora?

Oh, right. That's my name. It's still my name, even though I'm dead, right?

Right?

But no one will ever call me by it anymore. So what's the point in even having a name? They can't possibly be able to bury my body, it's all...mutilated.

They? Who are they? I used to know...people. Shulk, and Reyn, and...Dunban!

Who are they? Why do I think I know them?

Wait a minute...who are you?

But she can't speak, in the void of eyes-shut brightness. So she listens again, for another sound from that mysterious voice.

It comes again. "Fiora." Fiora. That's me. "My name is Meyneth." Oh, so that's you. Nice to meet you, I...guess?

Can't meet anybody when you're dead. That's a shame. I always liked meeting people.

"Will you help me?"

Can't help anybody when you're dead. That's a shame. I always liked helping people.

Is this my cue, do you think?

Instead of speaking, Fiora tries to think her response. Sure, what do you need?

"I need you to...share your body with me."

My body? But isn't it all...you know. How can I possibly be of any use to you?

"You will have...a new body. It may take some time to get used to."

Oh. Well. That's fine. I've not got anything better to do now, right?

So maybe dying isn't the end - not in this case, anyway. But it's not the beginning, either. Just...a gap. From one thing to the next.

Places, everyone. Take a deep breath. Are we ready to go?