In the summer of 1999, very little surprised Claire Tourneur. She simply wouldn't let shock take away valuable time that could be spent partying away the fact that her life was going to end. Everyone's lives, actually. The nuclear satellite hung precariously over the earth, losing a battle with gravity that would end life on the planet when it
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"Pfft. You think life is so precious? Certainly you are not treating yours as if it is."
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"Life is fragile at the best of times, you know. Civilians simply prefer to blind themselves to it. Soldiers know from an early age their lives are forfeit, if not how or when or why. From birth, some of them. Yet they still manage to get their jobs done."
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"You are not dead, you know. Not now, if you ever were. I was most assuredly dead. But not anymore, and surrounded by thoroughly live people." He rolled his eyes. "Strange ones, I grant you, but continually alive."
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((Edited for clarity.))
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Crais grimaced; time for a hard admission. "Dying and coming back...changes things. I was always taught there is nothing else after. I was...unprepared. No training, no scripts. No rules."
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He thought that over. "Or possibly that suggests too much conscious intent. It may be something that just happened to me. But that would be far too random to bear, would it not?" He shook his head. "Either way, there are others here who have experienced this. Dying, and then finding oneself here in this room."
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"A matter of personal taste, I suppose." He cocked an eyebrow. "At the end I was able to find something larger than myself to believe in - to do something good in this world, even if I had to die for it. You could not find a way to find some meaning in death, rather than simply wait?"
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