(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

To my surprise, there was one more line - one that Morte didn't read to me
in the Mortuary:
I stood, my head spinning, made worse by the residual headache from so
many deaths.
"Hey, chief. You okay? You playing corpse or you putting the blinds on the
Dusties? I thought you were a deader for sure."
"Eeeeh... I don't trust the gith. We should leave him behind."
"What's eating you, chief?"
"You and me, chief. You and me."
Reaching around, I ran a finger along my back where the inscription
probably was. I had to fight down the sudden urge to take a dagger and slice
off my skin in sheets so I could see for myself. In my fury and confusion I
snarled, punching the panel so it withdrew.
Click.
I had more important things to focus on, I thought. I could deal with such
problems later. For now, I needed to focus on what was in front of me. I
needed to see what I had to die three times for.
Don't trust the skull…
The sarcophagus lid slid open with ease, unlike the others... I discovered
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