Own Nothing. There's a tad bit of swearing, and the story's still picking up its momentum here.

Chapter Two: Meeting Old Friend

His uncle was pissed. More so than usual. Harry had his uncle on the color system, and it worked quite well. Purple meant a coma and nice nap from all his chores at the least, even if most of his bones were broken. A magenta was painful, but only the dark scarlet color meant anything long term. A nice putridly pale or slightly flushed face meant a swift kick or two, but nothing more. His uncle's face this time around defied coloring. It was the most horrible combination of skin colors imaginable. Harry half expected Crayola to kick down the door and either arrest him for breaking the natural order of colors or demand to know what he called the new evil combination. Evil. That was a good name, he thought. That would be the new category in his face color system. It was oddly purplish, but his cheeks were flushed magenta, and his eyes were bulging, and his pupils were dilated, making them appear black. The veins in his neck and forehead were throbbing in coordination with each merciless pound into the boy. He looked like he had been sent straight from hell.

Harry was beaten with the fists and legs until he felt himself nearly ready to slide into blissful, or sort of restful, unconsciousness. But his uncle suddenly left the room.

"Don't you move, boy, you hear?!" his uncle had bellowed as he left. Harry had smirked.

"Unless you expect me to slither to the stairs, I'd say you have no problem," Harry commented dryly, not carrying whether or not his voice carried to his uncle. His legs were a horrible mess after everything, and he was in no condition to even think of movement. He was about to roll over and shut his eyes to the pain when his uncle returned with an armful of things. Harry looked at him curiously and then with horror. His uncle dropped a kitchen knife and baseball bat onto the bed. He grabbed the knife and headed back to the child. Harry lost the color in his face, if there had been any left to loose, and for the first time in over ten years, he showed fear clear as day on his face.

"I've had enough of you're screaming, or you're waking me up, or you being in my bloody house! And you don't bloody learn. Well, you'll learn this time. I'll carve the lessons into you. You've ruined my life boy! You and you're abnormality. I can't even invite dinner guests over because you'll blow them up! I can't sleep at night because you scream bloody murder! I can't…" Harry lost track of his uncle's rambling as the knife cut into his arm. The cuts were shallow, but his uncle became greedy to see the steady blood flow, and they became a bit deeper. Harry was squeezing his eyes shut against the image of his blood spurting like a fountain from his arteries with every heart beat. At least I still have a heart beat, he decided. His uncle tossed the knife aside and then went for the baseball bat. Harry bit right through his lip as the blows continued over and over. He heard too many bones cracking too count them all. He was wondering why he was still conscious, why he hadn't gone numb, then he remember that the gods hated him and he had to live with the pain. Finally the belt came off, and by then, Harry had begun to drift. He was nearly asleep when his uncle's cold laugh filled his ears. He vaguely felt a pair of cold, drunken lips crushing onto his own, licking at the blood and sucking roughly. His uncle had plopped on top of him, his hands clawing at Harry's young flesh. Harry had only a few seconds to realize the horror of the situation, to struggle beneath the Titanic weight against him, to attempt to push his uncle's tongue back into his respective mouth, and then his uncle slammed his face into the bed frame, and Harry felt himself drift off.

Scarlet robes were billowing out in front of him, draped around a graceful, tall man with a slim but firm build. His green eyes were magnificent and bright, glittering like stars with even more mirth than Dumbledore could manage. His hair was a bit ruffled as it fell in tossed waves by his eyes. Harry drew in a startled breath as he realized he was standing in front of…himself? That couldn't be right. Harry shook his head and blinked. Nope, still there. Standing tall, with a smile, and those damn glittering eyes was his twin. The man looked older than Harry, probably twenty three, and in his right hand was an old gold staff than radiated power.

"Well then, Mr.Potter, you seem to have eluded us for quite some time, but no matter. You're here now," he said with a wide smile.

"Who are you?" Harry stuttered out. He felt like an idiot, and a rude one at that, but his manners were never up to par. It's not as though the Dursley's showed him how to properly entertain guests, and he never had any friends growing up with which to practice chit-chat. Harry's cheeks flushed red as he regretted his words, but the man in front of him seemed to laugh softly.

"That's a difficult question to answer Mr.Potter. Perhaps I could ask you the same question." Harry looked dumbfounded now, and the man found that even more hilarious.

"You've been calling me by my name, so I assume you know me," Harry replied with an edge of confession.

"Not the question I asked Mr. Potter. I know very well who you are. The question I'm asking is whether or not you know." The man smiled again as he looked into an image of his younger self. Did I always look that dazed when I was confused, he wondered. No wonder the boy has trouble with Snape. He must look like a bludger hit him every time he tries anything in that ridiculous class.

"What's going on?" Harry asked with a bit more confidence. His dazed look changed over to stubbornness and annoyance. The older man nodded. That was more like it.

"Very well then. I am Godric Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, though some slightly older and even longer dead people might refer to me as Merlin or even King Arthur. This day in age I believe people are running around calling me Harold James Potter, or Potty if I recall the Slytherin joke correctly." Harry went back to his bludger face.

"Excuse me?" Merlin/Godric/Potter smiled again.

"I am a whisper, Harry, of you're past lives. In you're past, you have in fact been the great sorcerer Merlin, and then were reincarnated to become Godric Gryffindor. You're recent reincarnation was for a Harry Potter."

"You're insane," Harry replied dumbly with disbelief.

"Arguing with yourself, Mr. Potter?" asked a soft, silky feminine voice. Harry turned quickly to face what could only be called light. Pure light streaming in front of him. It seemed to be the essence of the world, of life, of magic. It radiated love and laughter, and power that washed over Harry like the sun conquering a shadow. It was an intoxication to be so close to such purity. The light quickly began to take shape, and with seconds, in front of him there was a glowing goddess. The light around her slowly faded. She looked suddenly mortal and normal. Her black as midnight hair cascaded in ringlets down her back and was a stark contrast to her ivory white robes which clung to her slightly before billowing out at the hips slightly. Her eyes were a clear blue that seemed like whirlpools constantly in motion, and her lips were blood red. She was beautiful, perfect. The older Harry smirked and smiled, as did the woman.

"If you're quite done gaping at the Light, Mr. Potter, I do believe you were asking for an explanation?" Harry turned to his other self slowly before he seemed to shake off the shock of the gorgeous woman before him. He blushed deeply and cast an apologetic glance toward the Light. The woman smiled knowingly. She knew this boy better than he knew himself.

"You're mistaken," Harry said confidently, gaze set and without compromise. "I'm not even a good wizard. Hermione beats me in every class. Hell, half the school beats me in the classes. I'm a mediocre wizard, maybe in the top 40%, but nothing to shout power. If I can't even pass with good grades in basic spells, I don't understand how you can possibly presume that I was Merlin and Godric. You've got the wrong kid. Now, please, return me back to reality. I was in the middle of a much needed rest."

"What about Voldemort?" the Light asked casually, secretly hoping the boy wouldn't find the magic to put up another mental wall and return to his body. The boy wouldn't want to be in his body right now. Luckily, Harry looked at her with pure annoyance this time. Perfect, she thought, knowing full well Harry was stubborn and would stay to argue until she sent him back, preferably when his uncle was done beating him. She shuddered, but Harry was in a fury and didn't notice.

"Is that what this assumption is about?" he asked roughly. "Listen, I survived as a child because of my mother's protection. Why don't you go ask her if she was Merlin or Godric in a past life?"

"You've survived him three times not counting when you were a child," the other Harry said softly but with a matter of fact voice. Harry nodded.

"Yea. What a marvelous victory for our side. I escaped three times, barely and with nothing but dumb luck. The first time I survived only because of my mother's protection, yet again. The second time, I needed a bird to throw a bloody hat on my head before I had any idea of what I was doing, and the third time I managed to bring the bloody bastard back, get a classmate killed, and get my arse kicked in front of a bunch of Death Eaters. What wonderful victories for the side of good," Harry said with sarcasm, but he turned serious suddenly. "I'm sure Merlin and Godric would be rolling over in their graves if they knew you were even daring to compare them to me."

"You're a silly boy," the Light said with a smile. "If you're modesty weren't so adorable I would find this inexpressibly annoying." Harry could hear the laugh behind her words. "Let me let you in on a secret, Harry. In the entire history of the entire wizarding world, do you imagine not one mother had the courage to sacrifice herself for her child? You were not the only loved child in history, you know. Many mothers have thrown their lives into death curses to block their children, their husbands, their parents…it is not a new occurrence. But none, and I do mean absolutely none of these people have ever survived an avadra kedavra. It's true that their attacker couldn't physical touch them, but that had nothing to do with blocking spells. You blocked that spell of your own accord."

"Then why couldn't I stop it at the third tournament?" Harry demanded.

"You could have," the other Harry replied, "and in a way you did. You made Voldemort's wand regurgitate it's spells. Beating Voldemort in a tug of war of raw magic is no easy task. Beating his imperio is a bit easier, but not by much. Dumbledore would have been hard pressed to do either, and he's at the peak of his powers."

"You've been husseling you're teachers and friends for four years now. But you've been lying to yourself even more."

"Why would I do that? I have no reason to lock up my…"

"But don't you?" the other Harry cut in. "You're modesty and humility keep you honest, Harry, but they keep you too humble. You've wanted nothing more than to be normal. Every lifetime you live, all you want is to be normal. You, therefore, create quite impressive mental walls against your power to make yourself more normal. It works, as you've noticed. Like you said, you're not the top of your class. Chances are you try not to go first during demonstrations because you subconsciously watch what level the other students are able to do something, and then you copy their mistakes into what could be a flawless spell. However, the fact that you have survived Voldemort demonstrates that you are able to access your powers when you have need of them."

"Why am I here?" Harry asked a bit softer. "You were the one in my dream, trying to force the wall down with all that pain?" Harry looked straight at the Light, who nodded.

"Yes. Voldemort is back, and it is your job to destroy him. You needed the wall down so you could accept your powers and use them to destroy him. You also needed to remember your destiny, your past."

"I'm assuming not everyone has a past life?" Harry asked quietly, stunned to polite curiousity. It was all bullshit, of course, but he'd play along till he found all the flaws in their theory, then bombard them at once with it all.

"No. Past lives are special. Everyone is given a time on earth, a time in which their soul lives out and tests itself against earthly greed and evil. They are judged upon passing, and most souls live peacefully for all of eternity, happily in the clouds, in the Light."

"Why am I different?" Harry demanded.

"In you're lifetime you waged a war against the darkness for the Light. You were pure, modest, humble, respectful, responsible, and honor bound. I have sensed the division between the Dark and the Light for some time now, and I sensed the upcoming battles, but I'm little more than a guide for humans. I'm a not an actual player. I called on you to be my warrior in the mortal realm, my player for the Light. The Dark will always have its warriors, be it Slytherin or Voldemort or Grindewald. There wasn't always a guarantee, however, that there would be a hero. When I sensed the Light wavering, when I sensed an absence of a humanly guide for mortal men, I sent you. I sent you to dispose of Slytherin, though that had a rather interesting ending, and I sent you to dispose of Voldemort."

"Professor Dumbledore is a powerful wizard, he could have handled it. He's you're hero."

"He is an honorable man and he will be rewarded, but he's not as strong as you are, and even then, the old man needs a rest. He's been my hero in the past, with Grindewald. He proved himself. This battle, however, it not his. Voldemort is stronger than Grindewald, and he has invoked darkness itself. It is a battle between Heaven and Hell, Harry, and I chose you to fight for the Light. I chose you, Mr. Potter, the day you tried to pull a sword out of the stone."

"I thought you said I was Merlin. How did I ever become King Arthur?" The Light laughed sweetly.

"There never was a Merlin. You invented him. The sword called to you, fate called to you, and you answered. The only way the sword could be drawn however was if the person agreed to wield it in my name, to dedicate their souls to me, to give life after life in the name of something greater than themselves. No one in all of England nor the world could answer that vow, but you were pure enough to answer, and good enough to pull the sword. In return, you received Camelot. Queen Mab, however, was quite pissed off to discover a new power, a power of the Light. She used some spells to tempt you, and your half sister gave birth to your child. This child had a lay to the throne, so you're sister, before your child could even walk, declared war. You're men were older than you were, they were more experienced in politics, and you knew damn well they wouldn't like taking orders from a thirteen year old. So you created Merlin, a powerful, old, wise wizard your men could listen to without feeling immasculated. In political affairs, you stayed the king and had used a glamour on your best friend and near brother, Lancelot. He took on the appearance of your fabled Merlin. In battle, you switched. You took the spell to turn into Merlin, and you cast a spell to turn him into the king. Despite the fables, you weren't actually all that angry with him when he fell in love with your wife. You were happy for them. The two wanted to live in some peace, and you thought you'd have Mab in less than a few short months, so you arranged the execution and their safe escape. You then used your next closest knight to make the Merlin/Arthur transformation, his name was William."

"Any questions?" the other Harry asked. Harry looked at him, stunned from the intricate web of lies this King Arthur had managed to weave.

"Only a million," Harry replied.

"That all?" the other asked with a smirk? "They should be answered soon. What we're going to do is merge all three of the lives together, so that you'll remember what you've done and what spells you know."

"Then why the hell did you bother boring me to death?" Harry demanded.

"Weaving lifetimes together is difficult. Godric's life shouldn't be a problem. It was more recent. Arthur was a long time ago, and the intricate web of plots and lies is a bit complicated. Short of having you live the entire thing over, we wouldn't be able to make you understand all of it just by spells. Lifetimes are like old books that you're current lifetime reads. The older the book, the more lingo and customs you won't understand, the more words you can't quite make out on the page. Also, you're going to be reinturpretting the book from your new life, so that changes the story as well. Like I said, Godric's lifetime will be much easier for you to recall. The fact that you had strong emotional ties in that life will help. You'll probably remember everything from that life easily."

"The only part of the lives you will actually relive will be your vows. You relive them every time you rediscover your natural powers so that you remember what you promised vividly. The rest of the memories will flash and just come to you. So, you ready?" the other Harry asked.

Harry nodded slowly, figuring he could just laugh at them when it failed. But fail it did not. The Light dwelved into him again, but this time, there was no walls, she was pulling all his lives together and melding them, weaving them like cloth, pulling the other Harry into the boy's body and weaving their minds together again. Harry gasped as he felt memories returning.

The men had all tried to pull the sword, but none could do it. The air was damp with defeat and annoyance. The smell of war still clung to the clouds. England was in peril. The wizarding world was at war with itself along with the muggle world. Arthur stood there, a thirteen year old wizarding servant, gazing in awe and wonderment at the mighty sword. It wasn't the sword itself that drew him there, it was the promise of it. The sword was singing a beautiful song, a calming melody that brought peace or mind and heart. The sword offered peace. Arthur, for the life of him, wanted to bring harmony to the chaos. His own mother had been murdered in the name of war. He had no heart for it. The smell of blood in the air was nauseating, and so the boy stepped towards the sword. Luckily for him, the singing intensified, calling him ever forward, and he didn't hear the laughing of the fully grown, defeated men behind him.

"This is not a sword to be drawn," a feminine voice called from inside Arthur's head. She was powerful and convincing, but Arthur could nearly hear the blaring of war trumpets and the beat of war drums. He had visions at night of more carnage and horrors, and even if they were just nightmares, their basis and cause laid in reality.

"We need the sword, Lady," Arthur replied, kneeling on one knee in front of the stone as he did for the nobility. This woman spoke as a noble, and he had no doubt about her lineage or importance.

"What do you need it for?" the woman asked harshly.

"Peace," Arthur had replied without hesitation. The Lady laughed, a bit softer this time.

"You are very young, dear Arthur. Very young and very nieve. You would call upon a sword, a weapon of destruction and war, to make a bid for peace?"

"You're sword of destruction sings with the reassurance of harmony, my Lady."

"Does not change the fact, dear Arthur, that you would be forced to strike men down with this sword in a bid for peace. You would have to spill blood, kill and murder with this weapon, in order to demand peace." The Lady was speaking softer now, almost friendly, but the cold edge to her voice remained. How odd, she thought, that she threw a gauntlet down for a warrior, and ended up with a child.

"Not all weapons are for murder, and not all death is pointless. It's not always what you have to strike down that matters, but what you allow to remain standing. I would not use the sword as a weapon in a bloody fight of power. I would use it as a tool to bring peace back to this world."

"This is not a sword to be drawn lightly, Arthur. Pulling it from it's stone, you will have a tool of war and of peace. A power which you could wield to your own liking. For this reason, I have restrictions on the sword. You have to consider carefully, dear child. The weight of the world is not something a man should take on carelessly, nor should a child take at all."

"I want to end the blood shed. What are your conditions?"

"Pulling the sword, you will be named king. The king before you was supposed to hold the sword, but he proved unworthy, so I cast the sword into this rock and had the king make it clear to his people before his death that the sword is his heir to the throne, and whoever pulls it will be worthy to sit over his lands and watch over his people. The people will honor the kings last will and make you king, but it will be up to you to ensure that they continue to do so. You will be given land to rule over. I will let you decide where you want to resettle, and I will bless the land for you. You are already a great wizard, child, and I sense a great deal of destiny in you whether you pull the sword or not. Your legends will thrive regardless once you discover your abilities. However, if you do pull the sword, I will grant you a vision of the magical essence of the world. It is a sight reserved only for Gods, but I will grant it to you so that you might understand the nature of the world, of harmony, or war, of love and Light. The vision I will show you will help you develop your powers beyond imagination."

"You're offering this to me?" Arthur asked in shock. "I don't need all of that."

"No, you don't. You, if I am correct, would be perfectly happy to just pull the sword, have peace magically reign through the universe, and then hand over the kingdom to someone more blood worthy of the throne. You'd be happier living a quiet life in the woods with mediocre powers and no great destiny. No, Arthur, you don't need anything the sword offers except the power to try and earn peace. Which is why I need someone to pull the sword and accept those conditions.

"I need a warrior. I need a king, a leader, who can guide mortal men when I cannot. The Light of magic and goodness is slipping, and the world is falling into darkness. I am not a mortal. I cannot directly interfere with the lives of men, but I can ask a mortal to serve me. I am asking whoever pulls this sword to pledge their life to me. You must wage my battles against darkness as well as your own. Your soul will be dedicated to me so that in the future I might be able to call upon you, to reincarnate you to wage another battle. You will be a warrior of the light."

"What do I have to give up for this gift, for this ability to fight for the Light?"

"You're peace, Arthur. Most souls live in peace after their deaths, you will not. You will stay with me until I need you mortal, and you will be reincarnated to fight again. You're whole life, Arthur, will become a war against the darkness. You'll earn peace for the world, but you'll never experience it. You will never be normal nor inconspicuous. You're magic could make you great with or without me, but with me you won't be able to hide it as you're doing so well right now. I will not allow it. You'll be honored and famed for your powers, and you'll be feared for them. None of your lives will be easy. In addition, because I offer you sight of the true Light, a godly sight of what I, a God, look like and what makes up the earth, magic, and love, your magic will become mingled with mine. Your mortal abilities will be tinged with my godly powers. It will make you more powerful and will help me to help you should you be in a bind. However, if ever darkness is defeated, after you have fulfilled your pledge to me, I will take your magic. I cannot take back my gifts to you. You will always remember the power and the sight, but I will not have someone so powerful running around without restrictions, and without your soul dedicated to me, you would be free to take over the world. Power corrupts, Arthur, and whether you'd be willing or not, it could corrupt you. If ever this war ends, I will leave you, and I will leave you as a muggle."

Arthur looked stunned. He would have to wage war for this entire lifetime, for all of eternity possibly? And when, if ever, his war was truly fought and ended, then he would loose his gifts, his world? He didn't want to be famous, or king, or great…but he loved magic. He loved the magical creatures, the spells, and connection he had with the world. Magic was his world. The wizarding world was his home. Could he just give up everything for peace? For the Light? For his Mother?

"You have my soul, my Lady. You can have this life and all that follow. You have my magic and I implore you to take it with you when I fulfill my pledge. I will earn peace and I will fight the Darkness. Let me pull the sword, my Lady. I am willing to accept the weight of the world on my shoulders, so long as you promise your support and give your blessing."

The Light looked down on the child. He was young, too young, but there was no one else. He even agreed to give up his magic, a hefty price for any wizard, but especially for one with his level of magic. Even if the boy feared his own greatness, his power must have beat continually in him, a life source he clung to whether he wanted that much power of not. He had agreed to give up everything, however, and in return for nothing he truly wanted...except peace. He was pure and innocent, true, honorable, powerful, and idealistic. In spite of herself, she had to admit he was perfect. His want for peace was sincere, and his humble attitude would prevent him from being corrupted by his powers.

"Off your knees, King Arthur. You have proven yourself worthy to a Goddess today. You never need bow to anyone. You are great, and you will be great. Stand tall and proud, your majesty, and accept your destiny." Arthur stood slowly and raised his eyes to the sword. The singing was intensified. The laughing was still occurring, as though he hadn't been on his knees for half hour. He stepped forward and took a deep breath, feeling the surprising warm and welcoming handle beneath his hand. Power was singing through the blade, and with a last deep breath of what it was to be free and innocent, a child in mind and heart, Arthur took one long pull and wrenched the sword free, feeling every bit of manhood fall upon him at once. The laughing stopped and all was eerily silent as Arthur held the sword up, the blade dancing white with Light and power.

"All Hail, King Arthur!" a voice called from the crowd, and the rest eventually followed. Arthur turned and smiled sweetly, fully aware of his new gifts, of his power, but most of all, his responsibility to the Lady.

He remembered Lancelot and his wife after that. Most of all, he remembered Ravenclaw and the way she danced and her hips swayed. The way her eyes glittered periwinkle blue to match her robes. Two lifetimes were flashing before him, and the Light was right. With so many lives, so many years, it was hard to remember everything. Arthur's lifetime felt like memories one had from late childhood. They were there, but they were misty and vague at best. He, luckily, remembered most of his spells, his tactics, his enemies. He could plan an attack against Queen Mab right now, he thought with a smile. Emotional tries were usually an anchor, he realized. He cold recall Lancelot vividly, but the other men of the round table were ghostly faces he couldn't place. Finally the Light appeared back in her feminine form and smiled. Harry smiled back.

"I dare say every time you do this, Lady, it gets harder," Harry said knowingly, realizing that the transition from Arthur to Godric had been much easier and he hadn't fought the Light so severely in his visions. The Light smiled.

"You're current lifetime and situation with your uncle has made you stronger, but it's made you a bit more guarded. Nothing Ravenclaw can't cure, I'm sure," she said with a smile. Now, it's time for you to go do my bidding. Save the Light, Harry." Harry nodded and smiled teasingly.

"Have I ever failed you, my Lady?" he replied as he turned to walk away towards the edge of the vision, back to reality.

"Oh…and Harry," Harry turned quickly to see the Light dissolving into beautiful pure energy again, "Do try to have some fun." Harry smiled and threw a playful numb curse at the Light. She absorbed it and then screeched. "Bloody hell, Potter…" Harry smirked as he stepped off the edge and slammed into his body. Something wasn't right, he thought. His body felt cold, and his eyes weren't opening. Oh shit, he thought bitterly as he was suddenly thrown out of his body, and he gazed down in shock at his own corpse. When had this happened?

The blood circling his body in the black pavement told him his uncle was to blame. Paramedics had his shirt open and were pounding into his chest with CPR. Their mouths clamped onto his. He looked up and blushed before he felt a single tear slide down his face. Most of his professors were gathered in a tight single file line so everyone could watch, even if no one wanted to. Even Snape looked green and ready to puke as Harry's own blood leaked across in a bigger puddle that threatened to stain the hems of his slightly too long robes. Dumbledore looked grave with an angry, fierce cold look to his eyes. Hagrid was weeping. Minera was wiping at silent tears down her cheeks, and Sirius whined pathetically as a dog at Remus Lupin's heels. The paramedics finally got a crash cart out and charged it. Harry looked on and prayed. He couldn't die. He couldn't leave them. What would happen to his godfather? His professors? Oh God…Ron and Hermione? He had the power now to save them, to protect them. He could feel it pulsing beneath his fingers, and now he was dead. He wished there was a spell, but there was none for the magical world. Dead was dead. It was natural. It was not to be tampered with. Odd how muggles, supposedly weaker than us, managed to work magic that could subvert the laws of nature itself. I prayed silently, watching my body jump five feet in the air before thumping down, still dead. Minerva turned away and I couldn't blame her. That horrible screeching, flat beep would have killed me if I hadn't already been dead. Another charge, another five foot jump, and….beep, beep, beep. The heart rhythm began again. Harry felt his soul being pulled as though by a portkey and he was slammed into his body again. He lifted his eyelids as though they were lead weights. He could hear the sighs of his teachers and the pride of the paramedics as they grabbed him and got him in the ambulance. Lupin and the dog were allowed to ride the way over. The others agreed to deal with the Dursleys and then apparate over, and it was decidedly best if Sirius not be around to face the horrid relative. They'd be dead before the words, "What the fuck?" could even be uttered.