You open the Six Million Dollar Man lunchbox and...

...you are overwhelmed by devastating, crushing agony. The place where your right eye used to be feels like a red hot poker in your skull. Your right arm is a ruptured leather bag full of raw hamburger and shards of glass. Both your legs are spread out over a quarter mile behind you, mixed with burning jet fuel, bits of steel and foam insulation, wires… with every fiber of your being you beg God to let you die and…

Machines beep and hum, a glaring white light blinds you. Tubes run from every bit of your body that's still left and the smell of antiseptic is so strong it's like you're in a friggin' mop bucket. Someone is talking about rebuilding you, making you stronger, faster, they have the technology…

But it's 1975, and the fact is they don't. Hell, they didn't have anything like the technology in 2003 when you unwisely opened this damn lunchbox. Doctors escort the leisure suit clad loony Oscar Goldman out of the operating theater.

Now you float above yourself, looking down without emotion on the remains of your hideously maimed almost corpse. Your last coherent thought is how unfair it is you never got to slip Lindsey Wagner the bionic bone.

WHEN YOU'RE DONE SOBBING, START OVER!