The first time he died, it was in the line of duty. He regained consciousness in a hospital bed to be told that he'd missed his wife's funeral. Her ashes had been scattered on the planet of her birth, and on the planet many of her family called home. There had been other funerals, of men who had died with him, but could not be brought back as he had been. He vowed revenge on the man responsible for his wife's death -- for all their deaths -- and left the hospital in search of that man as soon as he had learned to walk again.
The second time he died, it was in a prison cell, and his was the only death. His sister handed him a cup of poison, and he woke up in another hospital bed on a different planet. His wife's killer was still alive and, with his life over once again, he had no choice but to try and remedy that.
The third time he died, it was at the hands of his enemy, a lucky shot in a fight he had expected to win easily. He woke up on a planet far from any he had called home, his sister at his bedside. He could have stayed there, could have convinced himself that it was time to start living again. But now his enemy had reasons enough to kill him, and he could not put his sister in danger by staying.
The fourth time, he didn't die. He killed his enemy, but not before learning that another was equally guilty of all the previous deaths. He had found a reason to live this time, and needed only one more death before he could live that life in peace.
I'll be starting a proper new project on the first of November. Until then I'll be playing with words, here and on scraps of paper.