The Void was not a place of peace.
People often imagined the afterlife as a grand transition—a tunnel of light, a grassy field, or perhaps a stern judgment before a golden throne. But for Daniel Sanders, the afterlife was a sensory deprivation tank that never ended. There was no up, no down, no breath, and no body. He was simply a spark of consciousness drifting in an ocean of absolute, suffocating nothingness.
'I'm going insane,' he thought, the words echoing only within the confines of his own mind. 'I have to be. Any second now, I'm going to stop existing.'
To keep his sanity, he replayed his life like a film on loop. He remembered the smell of his mother's cooking, the weight of a game controller in his hands, and the frustratingly beautiful ending of his favorite anime. He was only sixteen when the pandemic took it all away. He had been a geek, a dreamer, and a son. Now, he was just a ghost in a dark room with no walls.
'At least I didn't die a virgin,' he joked to the emptiness, a bit of dark humor he clung to like a life raft. It was a small, pathetic victory, but in the Void, small victories were all he had.
How long had he been here? Days? Centuries? Time had lost all meaning until, finally, the silence broke.
THUMP. THUMP.
It was a rhythmic, heavy sound. A heartbeat. Not his own, but one so loud it vibrated through his very essence.
"PUSH, MADAM! YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!"
The voice was muffled, as if heard through miles of water, but it was unmistakably human. The Void began to tear. The darkness, once absolute, was suddenly invaded by jagged streaks of white light.
'Wait... is this happening? Am I being born?' Daniel's consciousness surged. The apathy of the Void was replaced by a primal, terrifying pressure. He felt himself being squeezed, pulled, and propelled toward the light.
"That's it! One more push! I can see the head!"
Daniel wanted to scream, to protest, to ask what the hell was going on, but he had no lungs. He was a passenger in a biological riot. The pressure intensified until it felt like his soul was being threaded through the eye of a needle. Then, with a sudden, violent lurch—the world exploded.
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April 3, 1994, Empire State Public Hospital, New York City
The transition was agonizing. The silence of the Void was replaced by a cacophony of clanging metal, shouting voices, and the hum of industrial air conditioning. The cold air hit Daniel's new, sensitive skin like a thousand needles.
"WAAAAAAH!"
The sound surprised him. It was high-pitched, thin, and desperate. It took a moment for him to realize the sound was coming from his own throat. He had lungs. He had a body. He was heavy.
"It's a boy! A perfectly healthy boy!"
Daniel felt himself being lifted by hands that felt like giant, rubbery pillars. He was quickly wiped down, wrapped in a coarse, warm fabric, and moved through the air. His vision was a blurry mess of shapes and harsh fluorescent lights, but he could make out two figures hovering over him.
"Oh, Jack... look at him," a voice whispered. It was melodic but strained, cracking with exhaustion.
Daniel felt himself being tucked into the crook of a warm arm. As his blurry vision began to settle, he looked up. The woman holding him was breathtaking. Despite the sweat-matted auburn hair and the dark circles under her eyes, she looked like a queen. Her eyes were a deep, piercing violet—intelligent and fierce.
"He's perfect, Madeline," a booming voice replied.
A massive shadow loomed over them. Daniel blinked, trying to focus on the man standing beside the bed. He was huge—a mountain of a man with a jawline like a cinderblock and a head of thick, dark hair. He looked like he could wrestle a bear and win, yet his blue eyes were shimmering with tears.
"He's got your chin, Mads," the giant whispered, reaching out a finger the size of a sausage to gently poke Daniel's tiny hand. "And my... well, he's definitely got my lungs."
Daniel stared at them, his tiny brain struggling to process his new reality. 'No freaking way! I really did reincarnate. And judging from their brief interaction, this woman Madeline must be my new mother. And that big guy must be my new dad.'
Danny looked at the man again. Closely this time. Jack was wearing a blue jumpsuit under his hospital gown was, much to Danny's confusion.
'Who in their right mind wears a freaking jumpsuit under a hospital gown? Wait. By any chance, is he a scientist or something?' Daniel thought, his infant mind reeling.
He tried to process the absurdity of…well, everything. He had been reincarnated. The warmth of Maddie's skin was real. The smell of Jack's sweat and cheap cologne was real. The hospital room felt solid and gritty.
"Have you thought of a name, honey?" Jack asked Maddie, his voice trembling with pride.
Madeline looked down at Daniel. For a moment, her violet eyes met his. In that second, Daniel felt a strange connection, a tethering of his old soul to this new, tiny vessel. The fear of the Void began to recede, replaced by the overwhelming weight of a second chance.
"Daniel," she said firmly, her voice regaining its strength. "Daniel Robert Fenton."
"Danny," Jack grinned, leaning down to kiss Madeline's forehead before beaming at his son. "Welcome to the family, D-man. We're gonna have so much fun. I've already started designing your first hazmat suit!"
"Jack, he's five minutes old," Madeline sighed, though she was smiling. "Let him learn to breathe before you put him in a lab."
Daniel—now Danny—closed his eyes. The exhaustion of birth was finally catching up to him. He was a Fenton now. Unaware of what was coming in the future—ghosts, portals, and a life of superheroics—but for now, he let the steady rhythm of his mother's heartbeat lull him to sleep.
The Void was gone. He was home.