Rock was dead. This time he knew for sure. A diety of some sort had begun introducing him to post-life options, all of which seemed undesirable. The final was a disconcerted version of the den where he died, far messier than the mere clutter of his everyday experience. Some of the furniture looked as if it had been knocked out of place. Shelved books were scattered across the floor and rug, and Rock knew it was no worthwhile place to spend eternity. Furthermore, he was also prone to the hardwood near his front door and found it hard to breathe.
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