"Shark...?"

Ryoga opened his eyes, blinking. He was lying on a hard surface, probably concrete, staring up at blue sky and a familiar face. "...Yuma."

The boy grinned and leaned over him until their noses were almost touching. "You finally woke up! I was kinda worried, but I knew you'd get up eventually!"

Ryoga scowled. "Get out of my personal space."

Yuma complied, but his smile never dimmed. "We saved Barian world... and Astral world, too. Thanks to the Numeron Code, all the worlds can go on living in peace." He seemed to remember something. "Oh, but we're on Earth now. Everybody else went back to Barian, but I wasn't sure if maybe you and Rio wanted to stay here for a little bit..." It was obvious that he wanted that to be the case.

Ryoga rolled his eyes and sat up, feeling surprisingly none the worse for wear, considering he'd just died and been brought back to life. There was a part of him that really wanted to stay, but... "Sorry, Yuma, I can't."

Yuma's shoulders sagged. "Why not?"

Ryoga slowly got to his feet, dusting himself off. He could see Rio talking to Kotori a couple of feet to his left; judging by the teary hug the girls were sharing, their conversation was headed in a similar direction to his own. "First and foremost, I'm a Barian. While it might be fun to stay here for a bit, I have responsibilities... people to take care of." At the thought of the other Emperors being alive, he couldn't help but smile softly. Nothing had ever hurt him worse than losing them. "You're sure everyone's back?"

Yuma toed the concrete with a foot, staring at the ground. "Well… not everyone…"

What do you desire most?

Everything around him was blackness. He was floating in an empty void, nothing now but a lost soul, caught somewhere between threads in the fabric of space and time. He knew who he was, what he'd done, but it was like remembering a dream of a dream. No, scratch that, a nightmare.

Vector didn't feel regret. Not precisely. He wasn't so vain as to pity himself, either. Sure, he'd done a lot of horrible things, and about half of them could reasonably be attributed to Don Thousand, but when he considered all the choices he'd made, the course his life had run, there wasn't any one thing that he could go back and change that would make it all better. The Barian god had come after him because of his Number, and he'd had that Number since his infancy. The billions upon billions of possibilities, of choices that he could've/would've/should've made, all ended here regardless.

But that was all irrelevant now, wasn't it? He was barely even an existence anymore, just a faded, severed Ego wandering the universe's proverbial Fields of Asphodel. Nothing but a few scraps of memory in a sea of nothing.

So when he heard the Voice, he wasn't quite sure how to react at first.

What do you desire most?

Desire? He remembered desiring a lot of things, but none of them moved him anymore. He must have finally realized that all along, he'd never been anything but pathetically miserable, no matter how much power he got or how many people he hurt. That was, after all, why he'd gotten tired of trying and ended it - twice.

But, truthfully, he wasn't entirely satisfied with this listless nothingness, either. He didn't care if the Voice made him into a house-plant, he wanted to exist again.

He wasn't fond of what he'd become, though. If he was going to live again, he'd prefer to not be miserable. He knew changing the past wouldn't accomplish much, but… what if he could bypass all that? Wipe everything clean, start over?

As soon as the thought came to him, he knew that, yes, that was what he wanted. A clean slate, another go.

Very well. Your wish shall be granted…

The blue Civic sped down the freeway, swerving dangerously close to the center line. The woman in the front passenger seat gripped the armrest nervously, running a thin, pale hand through her wispy blue hair. "Cyrus, pull over!" She gasped as the car suddenly careened towards the shoulder before floating back to the center of the lane. "You're drunk, just let me drive!"

The man behind the steering wheel shot his wife a furious glare, his face nearly as red as his hair. "I told you, I am not drunk!" he shouted, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "We're going to be late, and you drive like an old woman!"

"We're not going to be late, just please, pull over!" the woman pleaded, glancing at her young son in the backseat through the rearview mirror. The boy looked positively frightened, tugging nervously at his seatbelt. The woman gulped and decided to try a different tactic. "Cyrus, if you do not pull over right now, I will call the police." She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, one trembling thumb poised over the keypad. "They'll be waiting at the airport with a breathalyzer, and then we will definitely be late."

The man's right eye twitched slightly. "You b***!" he roared, spittle flying out of his mouth. His hands slipped off the wheel, and suddenly the car was in the opposite lane.

The boy in the backseat screamed, and the woman lunged desperately towards the steering wheel, hoping to grab it and force the car onto the shoulder. Her fingers brushed the black textured surface just as the sound of a long horn blast filled her ears. She grabbed the wheel, then something crashed into the car and there was glass shattering and steel shrieking and folding in on itself before everything went black.

The private hospital waiting room was small and softly-lit, full of warm browns and muted reds. The change of scenery from the sterile white of all the other rooms was a small, if superficial, comfort to the frail woman huddled nervously at the end of one of the couches, her shaking fingers fiddling restlessly with the top button of her plain beige blouse. Her mouse-brown hair, usually done up in a tight bun, was a complete mess, strands sticking up like a bolt of electricity had run through them, and she clearly hadn't taken the time to make sure her outfit matched. She waited, quivering, staring at the painting of a field of sunflowers in front of her, making no sound except for the occasional sniffle. Tears constantly welled in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to flow. "They're alright," she whispered to the sunflowers, as if reassuring them instead of herself. "They'll be fine… Lydia will apologize for not picking me up at the airport, and we'll all go to the park together and feed the ducks…"

The door to the room swung open, and in stepped the doctor and chaplain who'd come to speak with her when she'd first arrived. The chaplain was a big man with a soft face, and there was tender sympathy in his features as he sat next to the woman and took her hand. "Ms. Shadows, I'm sorry, but your sister's heart just stopped."

The woman sniffled once again, shaking her head mechanically. "That's not true… that can't be true, they're all going to be fine!"

The chaplain scooted a little closer to her and gently patted her hand. "Ms. Shadows, I understand; you don't want to believe that they're dead. But your brother-in-law was declared dead on arrival, and your nephew died over four hours ago. I know this hurts, but you need to accept the truth; otherwise, you won't be able to grieve properly."

The woman made a soft noise, almost between a moan and a cry, and tears started rolling down her cheeks. "C- Can I at least… see them?" she whimpered, grasping the chaplain's hand with all her might.

The doctor nodded solemnly from where he stood near the door, his bright white coat seeming horribly out-of-place in the soft interior of the room. "You can, but… the sight may be somewhat disturbing."

The woman nodded slowly to show that she understood, and rose to her feet, still clenching the chaplain's hand. The two of them followed the doctor out of the room and down the long white hospital halls, past rooms and windows and beeping machines until the doctor opened a door and beckoned them inside.

"Mr. Harrison had to be taken to a different room," the doctor informed them, clearing a path through some people dressed in pale blue scrubs. "You can see him, too, if you like, but I wouldn't recommend it."

There were two beds in the room; the first held the thin body of a young woman. Her light blue hair was almost entirely matted with dried blood, and though most of her lower body was covered by a bedsheet, the thin fingers of her right hand dangled over the edge of the bed, mangled and twisted.

Her sister let out a cry of anguish, her knees suddenly threatening to buckle. She supported herself on the chaplain's shoulder and cried, horrible, wracking sobs shaking her entire body. After a time, though, she managed to calm herself down enough to take the few shaky steps to the other side of the room.

The boy in the second bed had only a few cuts on his face, and looked like he was simply asleep. The doctor had said that he'd died because of a sudden brain aneurysm, but the woman, gazing upon his face through eyes blurred slightly by tears, simply couldn't believe that the little boy in front of her was truly dead. She knelt down at his bedside and gently ran her fingers through his bright orange hair, caked with blood and dirt, and cupped her hand against his cheek. His skin still felt warm and soft, and she melted, weeping softly. "Please… just wake up…" she whispered, then drew her hand away and rose to her feet. After a minute or two of standing silently at his bedside, she started to turn back to the chaplain.

Suddenly, the boy's eyes snapped open, and he gasped, drawing in a huge breath of air before coughing raggedly. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed heavily, gasping desperately, fingers curled around the sheets.

The doctor's mouth hung open for a second or two before he rushed over to the boy's bedside, fumbling to reattach the EKG. "He's alive!" he shouted, turning to the stunned nurses around him. "Hurry, get that IV back in his wrist!"

The woman watched the scene with wide eyes, scarcely believing it could be true. "What's going on?" she asked the chaplain, who only shook his head, stunned. "It must be a miracle," he murmured, squeezing the woman's hand and smiling softly.

The woman smiled with him, feeling that her heart would burst.

After a minute or two, the EKG started beeping, a little fast, but steady. After nearly ten minutes, the doctor let out a sigh of relief and started scribbling something on a notepad, turning to the woman. "I… have to admit, I have no idea what just happened, but his condition appears to be stable."

The boy, who'd been focusing mostly on breathing until that point, started to turn his head, glancing around the room with a confused look on his face. "ここはどこ?" he asked, turning to the doctor, who was closest to him. "何が起こっているの？私は何も覚えていません。私は誰？"

The woman took a hesitant step towards the doctor, deeply confused. "What is he saying?"

The doctor scratched his chin, looking perplexed. "I think it might be… Japanese? I recognized about two words." He turned to the woman, a reassuring expression on his face. "He most likely suffered brain trauma; I've heard of patients waking up from concussions speaking totally new languages. But the fact that he can speak at all is a very, very good sign." He turned back to the boy, leaning over the bed slightly. "Um, watashi wa… err… my name is Doctor Hayes. Do you understand me?"

The boy's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then he nodded. "You speak English," he observed quietly, eyes still darting around the room. "Where am I?"

The doctor smiled. "Good, just keep talking and try to relax, alright? You're at the Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia. You were in a car accident."

The boy seemed to be wracking his brain, biting his lip. "I don't remember anything…" He looked up at the doctor, a touch of worry in his eyes. "Who am I?"

The woman drew in a sharp gasp, but the doctor's expression didn't change. "Your name is Ray, and you're nine years old," he said reassuringly, gesturing for the woman to stand next to him. "You might have amnesia, but there's no need to worry. As far as we can tell, you're perfectly fine. Do you remember your aunt?"

The woman smiled nervously, her fingers still shaking. "It's me, Aunt Lizzie."

Ray's violet eyes studied her face, but he shook his head. "I don't… remember anything," he repeated, a faraway look in his eyes. He turned his head to look at the bed next to him. "Who's that?"

Lizzie's eyes filled with tears, and she choked back a sob. The doctor's face took on a serious expression. "That's your mother. She died in the car crash."

Ray's face was unnervingly blank. "Oh." He turned back to the doctor. "Did my father die, too?"

The doctor nodded, struggling to keep his expression neutral. For a moment, there had been something in those eyes that frightened him for reasons that he couldn't explain. But the moment had passed, and the boy simply looked sad. "Yes, he did."

Lizzie reached out her hand and grasped Ray's, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. "Don't worry… I'm going to take care of you, Ray." She smiled, though it looked like it was extremely difficult for her to do so. "I promise."

Ray seemed to consider the offer, glancing back and forth between the doctor and his aunt. Finally, after a minute or so, he turned to Lizzie with a warm smile on his face. "Okay."

Lizzie sniffled and leaned over the bed, pulling Ray into a gentle hug. "I'll take care of you no matter what," she whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I won't let anything happen bad happen to you ever again."

Ray wasn't quite sure why, but he suddenly felt like a weight had been lifted from him, and he felt tears forming in his own eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, snuggling his face into her shoulder.

Author's Note: Aaaaand here is the fic that I've always kind of wanted to write but never got around to. Honestly, this is probably going to be the most serious part of the entire story, which I'm sure will dissolve into ridiculous humor starting next chapter.

Basically, Vector's getting reborn into the human world in the same way that Nasch and Merag were… although I feel a little unoriginal that I couldn't think of anything other than a car crash. At least the other driver wasn't a jellyfish man. My only other ideas were things like random muggings or armed burglary, but that seemed a little ridiculous and/or too typical-tragic-backstory-y, so I told myself to deal with it. I really don't want Ray to turn into Batman.

Also, this takes place in the US. Because I feel most comfortable writing about the US. The reason he speaks Japanese when he wakes up is because the Numbers War or whatever took place mostly in Japan, so that would be his current default. However, since all of the Barians speak Japanese fluently even though only three of them should be able to, I'm pretty sure they have some kind of biological Universal Translator that lets them speak any human language they want. That's how Ray was able to switch to English so easily. Also, pardon my Japanese; it's straight from Google translate, so it's undoubtedly horrible.