[h2][b][i][center]Aoba[/center][/i][/b][/h2]

From the moment his eyes re-opened Aoba was ready to fight, despite his sudden change in location and lack of clothing he jerked upwards, eyes darting back and fourth, looking for one specific person that unsurprisingly, he did not find. He thought back to his final moments, a blur of gunshots, screaming, crying and the cool somehow comforting feeling of an aluminum baseball bat in his hands. He could only remember gasping for air as his whole body failed him at once. The sound of police sirens seeming unimportant in the back of his mind as he stuck close to his niece, his voice weakly echoing his last words [i][color=violet]"I've got you..."[/color][/i]

Eventually he noticed he had been staring at his hands for a good minute, and finally looked up to the room around him. He stood and began wandering around the room, absent-mindedly picking at his fingernails as he paced the room. He ignored his phone, an older, shoddy model that could barely call itself a "smart" phone. Now, though Aoba had been studying medicine, most of his friends being gym-freaks meant that as a result his body was well kept. Lean muscle and his own collection of scars make an uneven pattern across his body, the result of his unhealthy habit of starting and ending fights with people getting unhealthily close to his family. He usually won but that was because he never played fair, waiting around the corner of an alley with a baseball bat is not normally considered a fair fight, even in the ghetto where he was born and raised.

Aoba vaguely noticed other people talking, huffing and quietly looking around before shuffling his way back to the bed he had woken up on. He tried to ignore the conversation going on around him as he tried to make sense of the fact that he had died... or was dead. He fumbled with his clothing as he dressed himself, immediately tugging on his pants and hoodie as he withdrew the pack of cigarettes and debated on lighting one.

[color=violet]"[b]Still not [i]really[/i] sure this is all real, I mean I distinctly remember smashing my way through a damn drug den and being shot up. People don't normally come back from that do they? Unless this is some elaborate prank like in one of those TV shows."[/b][/color]

Aoba laughed to himself, trying to remember how the plot of the shows went. It would make things so much easier if everything was some elaborate joke. Tears slowly began to well up as his voice began to shake. 

They could do anything with Hollywood movie junk right? [i]Right?[/i]

[color=violet][b]"Cmon guys, it's not funny anymore. Where's Sammy?"[/b][/color]