"Arlo, welcome back."
A voice echoed, jolting him from his slumber. He found himself sprawled on the waterbed once more.
Lifting his gaze, Arlo saw an older reflection of himself, perched on a grand throne, a blood-soaked grave by his side.
"Arlo, Arlo, Arlo, what do you think death is?" the older Arlo probed.
Internally, Arlo pondered, 'He seemed friendly; what caused the shift from his usual aloofness?'
"Death is just that… death. There's no more to it," Arlo responded, his tone indifferent.
A smirk played on Old Arlo's lips, "Still as naive, I see. For most, death is the end, but for you, it's a punishment for your reckless deeds."
Arlo, taken aback, fell silent, unsure of how to respond.
"I warned you would die, but you didn't listen to me. Doing something stupid to help people who will die today or tomorrow, for you to sacrifice yourself. Your senseless actions are causing me to lose my interest in you," Older Arlo seethed.
