Exploded floated in pure darkness. There was nothing, and he was nothing. It was perfect, blissful. Here, there was no red. No blood. No death. Just… nothing.

It felt wrong, somehow. But why? There was nothing wrong with this place. But a memory of what once had been called to him.

Be, it sung.

Why, though? Why exist in a place of pain? Of misery? Of grief?

Because, it answered, of life.

Life? No. Life was pain. Pain was life. Here was better. Infinitely better.

Still, deep inside, he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Where are you, then? The memory demanded. There is no life here.

No life… he remembered something now. If there was no life, there was…

Yes, the memory said, death.

Death. The word echoed inside of him. A place of no hope. No happiness. No… life.

You must live. You must hope. You must never surrender. The memory didn’t ask him. It commanded him.

So he hoped. For an end to the darkness. For the beginning of light. He didn’t surrender to this place’s peace. Because true peace, he knew, was life. Was hope. Was happiness.

Time passed. How long, he wasn’t sure. But he did not stop hoping.

Light burst into the place of darkness – bright and illuminating. The darkness fled, and Exploded was enveloped in softness and warmth. The light called to the very essence of his existence – it cradled him, and peace poured into him.

And Exploded slept.