"I made my way into the bedroom, where I saw the victim lying on the floor, face up, with a single big calibre gunshot wound to the chest," said the detective.

Mark came to a complete stop. He was having difficulty breathing at this point, and getting to his feet was a strain for him. The sensation in his mind was like someone had wrapped it up like a top and then let it go, causing it to spin furiously about his shoulders.

He opened his notebook and wrote, "I have it here that the resident, the dead, is a man named Robert, 'Mark,' of Washington, age forty-four," on the page.

Suddenly, his ears were ringing and his temples were throbbing with blood, causing the ambient light to pulse in his eyes.

"Can you tell me what you're talking about?! I'm not dead; in fact, I'm here in front of you! "Can't you see that I'm here?!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, unable to contain himself.

"No, buddy, they can't," a voice from behind Mark said emphatically. He turned around so quickly that he nearly stumbled over himself. On the other side of the street, a guy dressed from head to toe in a three-piece black suit, his dress shoes sparkling brilliantly even in the faint light of the lamps, stood.

"Keep your composure, buddy. You don't want to put yourself in any danger. Despite the fact that it may be tough to do. What with you being deceased and all." Mark had a hard time understanding what the guy was saying since he was speaking in a foreign language.

"It's all right, Mark. This modification takes some time to become effective." He proceeded slowly approaching the guy, who seemed to be dazed.

Mark was perplexed as to what this quack was talking about, and what adjustment he needed.

In the same way that I am not a duck, you will not hear me quack. I'm here to help you through this process. "We have a little distance to go."

While reaching for his chest, Mark had the distinct impression that his heart was about to thud its way out of his chest cavity. That's when he realised what he needed to do. He had a rough burned, gunpowder residue drenched hole in his chest, which he had drilled himself.

Who or what is responsible for this? How long has it been in this place?

"It suddenly materialised out of nowhere. "Now that you've realised you're dead," says the doctor.

"I'm not going to die!" We are in the middle of a dream! "I need to get out of bed right now!" Mark let out a scream.

When asked who was coming out of the building on a stretcher with a corpse bag, the guy replied, "If you're not dead, then who is that?"