Mike Roland died.

Horribly.

Tragically.

In a way that his sister could use to sue a big corporation. She would be happy about that.

Mike, on the other hand, was not happy. He was quite annoyed. One little misstep while building a skyscraper and he was dead.

He thought about that for a few seconds.

He was thinking. He was annoyed. Both those things implied he was alive.

Mike knew he was dead. A terrifying vision of the ground rushing towards him played in his mind, and he had no doubt that he was dead.

Ah. So this was the afterlife.

It was dark. Quiet. Comfortable. He assumed he would get bored eventually, but for the moment it was nice.

A box appeared in front of him.

What would you like to be next? Cat | Panda | Worm | Velociraptor | Capybara | Shark

Mike looked over the options, debating. He didn't want to be a carnivore, so three of the options were out. Worm was also out, for traumatic movie reasons. Panda might be nice, but odds were he would be born in a zoo and stared at his whole life. Pass. That left capybara. Capybaras seemed like chill creatures.

He nodded to himself, reached over, and his finger brushed [Velociraptor] on its way to capybara, turning it green.

He panicked, waving both hands through the capybara option. The velociraptor option stayed green.

The box vanished, and he felt a pulling sensation.

"Wait, no!" he shouted into the void. "I wanted to pick capybara! I don't want-"

There was a thump that reverberated through his soul, and suddenly he felt cold and wet.

Distant voices sounded around him.

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"He's conscious. Draining the tube."

"Where's the clipboard… Where are my glasses?"

"You're wearing them."

"Ah, thank you."

The liquid around Mike drained away, and he coughed. His lungs burned and his eyes felt like they had slime in them.

"Hello, raptor," the older voice said, clearer now. "Let me help you."

"Grraraaeeeep," Mike said. And coughed again.

"Very nice."

A box appeared in front of him.

Welcome!

You may choose two of these to start your new life with:

Speech | Pounce | Luck | Stealth | Intelligence | Speed

A scaly hand took his arm and moved it up.

Meaning Mike finally saw his arm. It was feathered, and ended in scaled fingers with long, black claws. He squawked in surprise and felt a tail twitch. Every bone placement felt wrong in a way he couldn't describe.

The scaled hand, which belonged to a white-feathered bipedal dinosaur in a grey lab coat and strange glasses, pulled Mike's arm up until his claw touched [Speech]. Mike flailed, another claw grazing [Stealth].

Congratulations!

You will start your new life with [Polyglot] and [Sneak Attack]! Both skills will be set at their max level, which is 100.

May this world bring you joy!

"That's unfortunate," the old dinosaur sighed. "Bartholomew, we'll have to try again."

A dog-sized dinosaur with a long neck padded up, its dark blue scales showing green mottling as light hit it. "What did he do?"

"He flailed and hit stealth."

"He got speech, right?" Bartholomew asked.

"Yes."

"That's the important one." The smallish dinosaur looked Mike over. "We might be able to sell it."

"Sell?" Mike croaked. They were going to sell him?

"Yeah," Bartholomew said, as if that was common. "The Marquis wanted a lucky clone, but a defense clone is never something to sneeze at. The kid's a bit of an ass; his life is going to be in danger more than once."

"True," the biped said thoughtfully. "True! In fact, we did this on purpose! We analyzed his situation and decided he needed protection more than luck. Or better yet: his mother wrote us and told us to not make a luck clone."

Bartholomew grinned. "Brilliant as always, Professor."

"Clone?" Mike asked feebly. "Marquis?"

"Yes," the professor said, picking up an alarmingly-sized syringe. "Don't worry. You're going to take a little nap, and when you wake up everything will be explained."

"But I don't want to take a-"

He jabbed Mike with the needle.