Genes and family may determine the foundation of the house, but time and place determine its form.

Jerome Kagan.

Diet Cola Mountain. Warm, dark, secluded. Illuminated only by the molten liquid within, and a small amount of sunlight from the top that had recently been blown off.

People rarely visited here.

The air began to shimmer. Pixels moved towards one point, forming a blocky mass. They fluttered around each other, looking for a space to squeeze themselves into.

Having inserted his code into the game manually, he would stay. Almost like a parasite. A leech. Sucking the life force from a game that was not his own, as it unknowingly resurrected the very person almost responsible for it's destruction.

Eventually, the mass became vaguely spherical, or as spherical as a lump of glowing data blocks could get. A soft humming could be heard as most of the blocks settled into place.

And thus, the mass began to take on a slightly more human form. But it wasn't complete. He came back too young. Too weak.

Considering its job done, the respawn system dumped the individual on the ground, expelling its code from the system.

If he were to perish again, he would not be brought back.