1 The End (is just the beginning)

He groaned softly and he rolled onto his stomach. His head ached, his ribs felt bruised and his skin was itchy. What... exactly had happened? He opened his eyes slowly, and felt glad for the dimly furnished room. He'd heard too many people talking about waking up in a white hospital room and getting an immense headache.

Speaking of... where exactly was he? Definitely not a hospital, that was for sure. Wait. Let's think. What had happened....?

Ah, right. He'd been doing one of his stunts. He'd just gone through the helicopter blades and... a costly mistake on the stage crew's part. His motorbike had flipped back over front because the tire had caught on a loose board. The harsh burn of fire... screams as his body suit moulded into his flesh... the crack as his helmet broke. Or had it been his neck...?

He raised a hand to his throat, swallowing nervously. He looked around cautiously and got off the bed he lay on.

"...Hello? Anyone?" he called softly.

"Hello~!"

"Holy shit! Gah!"

He stumbled back, one hand placed over his chest and his heart thudding. A fluffy white ball bobbed in front of him. Two small, bright black eyes peered at him in concern.

"Are you alright, Host? Do you want me to get help?"

He stared at the ball, then shook his head silently.

"What... what the hell are you? And where am I?" he asked. "Am I dead? I died, right?"

"I'm System 22, Host! And yes, you died. You are currently in the System Space. Try turning on the light! It's to your left," the little white ball said.

He hesitated for a moment, and then waved his hand towards his left and it hit a switch. The lights flickered on and he gaped.

"This... this is..."

He was in a small room, and bittersweet memories sprang unbidden to his mind as he spun around in a daze. The walls were wooden, and posters plastered the wood. A small shelf was overly crammed with books and the shelf below it had several figurines of vehicles. A tiny table in the corner was overflowing with blueprints and pencils. A scratched white, purple and black helmet rested atop the chair. A full body motorbike suit was draped over the back of it. A cracked wooden mirror hung on a hook, next to it was a silver bangle. The shelf next to it had a small brown package and a letter atop it.

He looked at the small floating ball. It looked at him sadly. He choked back a sob and scrubbed at his eyes roughly.

"...why am I here? What do you want?" he asked hoarsely.

"...as I said, I am System 22, Host," the ball said softly. "You died, and have been chosen as my Host. You will go around through worlds, becoming that world's greatest entertainer."

He stared at the ball, then gave it a small, tired grin.

"Sounds fun. I needed something to tip over the jug of boredom life gave me. What do I have to do, precisely?"

"Become the world's greatest entertainer," System 22 recited dutifully. "Also, if need be, show the FL or ML's true face to the world. That's pretty much it, Host."

He shook his depressing thoughts away and lifted his chin and laughed arrogantly. He lifted his hand into the air, his fingers shaped into a finger gun.

"Well, that should be easy enough for this great one! I accept this.... whatever it is, and will become the world's greatest entertainer in more than one world!" he yelled. However, his eyes glinted a bit sadly, before he blinked and any sign that he'd been upset was gone. "Now let us go, my new friend!"

His laughter was infectious and System 22 laughed delightedly.

"At once, Host! Transferring in 3... 2.... 1!"