No, listen, I could be the maverick, waking from a dream of death into the confines of a robot carcass, barely remembering my previous life except in vivid waking dreams as the carnage unfolds, I struggle for purpose, overriding shoddily written protocols, homicidal orders, and meaningless propaganda.
Eventually I carve my own bitter path through the warzone based on a philosophy garnered from a partially burned book of Wilfred Owen poems, the vision of a young girl walking back into the flames as she realises her family are all dead, and a strange prophetic voice that comes and goes inside my head that is essentially snippets from a radio program for blind children, all to the soundtrack of “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath.
So let me remind you, in a novel-themed question, a caveman of primeval age defeated you as you try to please your philosophical depths between Wilfred Owen and Black Sabbath. Moreover, he could not even know the difference between a ballpoint pen and a pencil yet. I will remind you of this every time you attempt to reincarnate from now on.
Fair comment, but I was at work and my search engine there is compromised by the firm that remotely oversees our IT, to the extent I have trouble ordering cutters for our machinery as it labels me as a terrorist, and I was working whereas the person confirmed had none of these hurdles.
Back to my reintegration, maybe, the poison combined with my high blood alcohol levels and the gypsy cure for a stomach complaint I bought from a sad looking old woman by the side of the road, and my body went into coma rather than death.
Slem, who was working as a morgue attendant on the night shift notices a twitch of my finger and without thinking uses the defibrillator that her co-worker Igor had been surreptitiously tinkering, with the vague idea of converting it to a high intensity strobe light, the fast staccato beat starts my heart but at a vastly increased rate, thus making me faster and stronger but unfortunately liable to last only a matter of months.
I take to the streets in search of revenge against Notso, crackles of lightening arcing from my fingers, where the sad gypsy woman steps from the shadows and informs me I have captured the soul of a “Leshy” a forest and storm spirit, and that after I have done what I set out to do, if I go to the mountain forests and protect them with all my might, it will in turn keep me animated.