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... ill had eyelids or eyes, for that matter.
He was standing. Or floating. He couldn’t tell.
There was only white. An endless expanse stretching in every direction, so bright and uniform it should have hurt to look at, except it didn’t. Because pain required a body, and he was fairly certain he didn’t have one anymore.
Because he was dead.
The truck had killed him.
That bastard in the suit had smiled while a truck killed him.
"Well," Hiroshi said, and ...
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