“… A space bubble with a resuscitation sarcophagus inside, where Spartacus was resurrected for the second time, entered the dense layers of the atmosphere. The bubble slowed down, slowly dived into the stratosphere, neatly fit into the gap between the clouds, slowed down to a minimum and finally touched the ground. Shock-absorbing, the bubble flattened, and an air cushion appeared inside it. She supported the sarcophagus, where he was completely restored, Spartacus was resurrected, just in time for landing. The pillow of air softly sank, the bubble burst, the sarcophagus cracked in half, the halves split in two, the quarters split into halves, the octagons separated, the sarcophagus crumbled into pebbles, they crumbled into the sand, he crushed into dust, it was carried away by the wind. The naked hero, completely weak at the beginning of his third life, much weaker than at the beginning of the second, lay on the loose and warm soil and looked into the whitish skies. It smelled of freshness and spaciousness, the breath was easy and tasty. Lying down and feeling how strength was slowly accumulating in the revived body was damn nice, but Spartak wanted more, he wanted to control the situation. Or, at worst, have an idea about it. About the situation he found himself in. Or he did. ..."