ONLY HERE. [dead people, dakota]

That had fucking hurt. So much had happened, but almost all of it was erased by the screeching pain of his existence ceasing. At least, in the mortal world. His soul had been ripped from his body by a denizen, not his own. He had beaten Shiva and even attained godhood, but his session and body couldn't handle his rage. He killed himself by accident by protecting his sister. Pulverized the inside of himself without even feeling it. It was an honorable death, though, and recent. If time were still linear to Dakota, Imogen would still be crying over his body. At least, he hoped so.

So now he wandered. At first everything had been white and intangible. It hurt Dakota to even open his eyes, so he just walked. He could've been walking for eons for all he knew. Somewhere, though, somehow, he finally came across an area. The inner workings of Sburb and all it's intricacies were a mystery to Dakota, something he didn't even try to ponder. He considered himself an intelligent man, but Sburb was beyond comprehension. He had begun to merely accept what happened to him as it happened. It was only a shame he was still trapped in consciousness. The relief he had been seeking in death, all of those attempts, they had been useless and selfish all along. Just his luck, it seemed.

Dakota was mortified to find he was standing before his manor, his prison. Watching his father die in the session was one of the few joyous moments Dakota could remember. Whatever, it didn't matter anymore. Where else could he go? Besides, maybe it would be nice to lay down and just listen to some music for a while. Entering the game had been tumultuous, frantic. Dakota needed some quiet time. It was shocking and sickening to find that the front door just simply opened, a luxury he never had in life. Dakota plodded on, finding his purple Knight's outfit had disintegrated. He was back in his casual wear, jeans and a black t-shirt. It was strange having your godhood ripped from you.

He finally made it through the maze to his room, taking a second to appreciate the irony that after all this time he was just going back to his prison. Willingly, almost. Maybe freedom was a joke and everyone does secretly crave to follow order and maybe-- oh, fuck it. He was a god damned ghost. Politics and ideologies were behind him. He had the afterlife to look at now, whatever that meant. Dakota turned the door knob and walked in, taking a few steps before being stopped in his tracks. His room wasn't barren, there was a very distinct smell and someone very familiar, in a very bittersweet way.

"Nico, no-- not you too."

When communication with Nico had gone black Dakota had given it the benefit of the doubt. Tons of crazy shit happened in the game, and Nico was bound to be doing his own thing. But instantly he knew that wasn't the case. Nico was dead, and so was he, and this was their heaven (or maybe hell). A dark room in the corner of a massive manor.

Dakota wasted no time in closing the gap between them, going to Nico and crawling on to the bed, hands and knees to the boy. It could've been a mirage or a trap or a hoax, it didn't matter to Dakota, it suddenly felt as if centuries had passed since he touched another human being or was touched. Dakota lifted his hand, reaching up to cup Nico's face, looking into his face and his blank eyes, horrified and elated all at once. This was him, his friend, his closest friend, one of the few friends he had ever touched in his life. Here he was. But why? Of all places, to want to be in the dark of Dakota's room, "What are you doing here?" He smiled now, a toothy grin, incredulous at the hand he had been dealt, "I was looking forward to a cool bed, you dunce."