"No, it's, it's fine," he laughs. He has to laugh. There are so few ways one can deal with their own anomalous mortality, so he settles for self-mockery and apologies and an offhandedness that belies the reality of the fact that he can no longer remember how many times he's died, slowly and painfully and in a myriad of terrible ways, because it's simply easier.

"No, I, I got, um. De-scended, I guess is the word for it. Twice, actually. Well, I died more often than - you know, it's, uh, I'm sorry. It's kind of a lot, I know."