"Where am I?" Kirby spoke into the void, hearing himself as both a third and first party.
"Am I dead yet? Did I get baked alive?"
A sharp burst of pain erupted from his temples and the bridge of his nose as he was blinded by a light that drowned out all his other senses.
Finding himself in a similar environment to before he calmed down after nothing seemed to change. That was, from the complete darkness of before becoming a softer, gentle white.
"Hello?" He yelled once more into the void, Is anyone there?
"Yes Kirby, we're here." A voice reverberated throughout the space. "We want to talk to you about what has happened."
"You're going to be okay but… you don't look so hot right now. We can reconstruct your body almost from nothing, but since you… Were so close to your parents… We can't figure out exactly how to go about helping you." The voice sounded resigned, calm but still a bit panicked.
"We don't have any pictures of you since you're not a grown up yet… So would you mind telling us what you think you look like?" Stuck behind the solid wall of legal boundaries and on a tight schedule, this was their final and most dreaded option.
"Okay…" Thinking to himself Kirby realised what was going on. They were putting him back together. He was like a broken toy that only he knew the instructions to. It was his chance to change, become better. He hated that his parents always thought of him as an adopted son. It drove an imperceptibly small wedge between them. He wanted to make them proud, not remind them he wasn't theirs.
"So what if I looked like mom and dad?" He thought to himself, almost filled with glee at what he'd come up with all by his lonesome. "They're going to be so happy when they see that I look like their son!" His head spun with all the awesome ways to make this into a good situation, like his dad always said to do.
"Okay then." He suped himself up for the oncoming conversation and began. "I have my moms eye's! I also have her smile… I'm as tall as she was when I was her age. She was always really tall!"
Genuinely happy that these things could finally become reality after his parents had told him them countless a time.
"Please continue." The voice said, slightly hurried. It sounded like a rushed student at a study hall, desperately trying to catch up after he'd lost attention.
"I've got my dad's face, people say that I look sad all the time but that's just how I am." Thinking hard he realised that those where their defining features. They didn't stick out much otherwise but had enough personality to fill any room they walked into.
He thought about his situation for a bit before realising that he's going to look totally different than before, as he remembered absolutely nothing in regards to his appearance.
He panicked for a bit before realising that so long as he uses little bits about what he remembers them complaining about themselves he could easily build his body to look way cooler than before.
So he talked. About how much he'd been growing, his cool, non-balding head of hair. How awesome his metabolism was and about how he could eat as much candy as he wants without getting sick.
"Alright Kirby, we've got an idea of what you look like, I'll talk to you when you wake up properly." The voice said, fading into the distance like it was music you'd hear from a passing car.
The world faded back to darkness without a jolt and Kirby was once again, left alone. After he tried (and failed) to stretch he realised he was inside his head at the moment.
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He thought of problems, thinking up absurd methodologies for time travel and how a shrink ray could realistically work. How to practically create a black hole without any sort of stellar collapse. Day to day stuff really.
And that was how he spent his time, engorging himself on endless streams of possibilities and planetary machines of legendary proportions. He would've frolicked if he wasn't just a disembodied consciousness inside his own head.
His empire of dreams, memes, and machines was built up within his own head. Only to come crashing down upon the moment he opened his eyes to take in the world he was born in.
Kirby woke up in bed to the sounds of a bustling hospital. A rhythmic beeping of ECGs with a cacophony of voices as the backdrop. The smell of anesthetic permeating the small room he was in was, almost, but not quite sickening.
Looking out he saw that behind the glass encasing him there were tens of people all scrambling to fiddle with buttons of one kind or another. Looking around he finally realised that he could move his body. As he made his move to stretch out his arms one of the many people that were fiddling with buttons yelled, and the liquid Kirby had failed to notice beforehand began to drain.
Now affected by gravity, Kirby's body fell down, gently landing on the bottom of the pod before his knees buckled without the support of the liquid. He was held up by a few of the doctors and carried off to an adjoining room. He was then laid down on the only thing in the room, a bed.
After being laid down the doctors wheeled in several different devices end machines. In around ten minutes of intense work on their part a large apparatus had been constructed around Kirby's pale and shivering body.
"Oh, I'm not dead yet." Kirby said, grinning as much as he possibly could without any developed muscles.
"No you're not kid." A nearby doctor said happily. "You just need a bit help getting up, which is what we're doing. Just sit tight."
As the doctor finished reassuring him the machine descended. Needles and tubes covering the entirety of the contracting contraptions internals pricking every square millimeter of flesh on his body.