He hated to admit it, but dying a second time had been informative.

When the other had pushed him off the cliff, he’d only been moments away from mastering what the other now called “withdrawing”.

Rex conjured up the sense of awareness he’d felt in those moments, and this time used it to make his hands dissolve away in front of his eyes. It turned out to be just as tricky making them disappear as it was to make them solid in that other place.

He figured he didn’t need to actually think about how he would get to the white place, as he certainly hadn’t made any conscious effort last time. That time simply dying had been enough, so he tried to concentrate on just not being.

It was harder than he expected.

His conscious mind didn’t like being not-concious, and rebelled against being shut down. Thoughts of Jones clawed at his mind and he fought to squash them. The Professor, not properly mourned, achingly missed, he squashed those thoughts too. He wondered if the ship he’d sold to that trader on Kleeb still flew as fast, and how many days it had been before that persistent rattle that he could never locate came back to torment its new owner. That guy must hate him for that. Not that it mattered.

Why was this so hard?

He suddenly had a craving for cupcakes.¹ What he wouldn’t do for one right now…

Rex’s mind finally shut up. His consciousness folded in on itself.

And he found himself in the endless white plane.

I did it! he thought proudly.

What is a cupcake? asked the other.