If anything, I'd want my last meal to consist of a sandwich. I've always loved pasta, but it would probably turn into a big fat lump of chewed gum in my stomach. It would have to be a tuna sandwich, so I could annoy the person that finally destroys me with fishy breath. Then again, maybe pasta wouldn't be so bad then. I could always vomit on my murderer.
But a hero has to die dignified. Yeah, you heard me, a hero. Real Heroes don't vomit, at least in public. If I had any sort of precognitive abilities, I'd predict exactly what the villain would be allergic to. If nothing else, his eyes and throat would get puffy just by touching me. That's justice.
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