Delta Echo Alpha Delta

Warning: I don't know a thing about science, nor reanimating the dead. Proceed with low standards. 

It's dark out.  Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirps.

You're completely still, lying there, looking so peaceful. You've been resting for quite awhile, haven't you? Getting your beauty sleep, huh? No breath enters nor exits your lungs. No blood moves, no nerves light up, no fans stalk your social media, no cameras flash at unexpected times. 

That has to change. 

In the cold of night, a dead body is gently lifted off the ground. Limp limbs swing in time with the gait of the person who is carrying the corpse. This person looks around nervously for witnesses, hoisting the heavy weight into a more comfortable position, and walks over to a large vehicle. In the back of the truck, that dead body is carefully set on a gurney. Moonlight glows against the white fabric. 

He better be careful; you're too precious to lose. 

- - - - - 

"Isn't this illegal?" Someone is worried. Someone who, if they don't watch their tone, is going to get fired pretty soon. 

Lord knows the retort is hot enough. 1,100 degrees Fahrenheit is indeed an intimidating temperature. 

"Shut up," someone snaps. "We've got more important things to do than worry about what's legal or not!" She makes air quotes around the word "legal". 

"Get back to work, everyone," I call out, surveying the room. In another room, someone works tirelessly to get your heart back into shape. Each stitch is carefully made, each cell revived with acute attention, each vein attached with the most patient of hands. This one has to survive. No more heart attacks. No, this one won't go down so easy. It's better than last- see, we're improving you! 

In another room, the empty hull of your body, being held up with sterile plastic supports, is getting work done on the skin. We had to steal some from fresher bodies, and it took awhile to match your specific skin tone, but we did it. Eventually the scars will fade away, once you're alive again and the cells can work together to heal. It won't do you any good up on the stage if you've got ugly white scars running down your body, now, will it? 

A scientist down the hall scans your brain, watching the screen slowly print a digital 3D diagram of it. With a few sparks of electricity, we'll get those neurons working again. 

Slowly, so slowly, you're coming together again. 

- - - - -

Can you hear us? Can you see again? Hey, calm down, sit still for a second.

"Wakey, wakey," a voice, almost saccharine and dripping with warmth, greets. You blink blearily- it's hard to get used to bright lights after the darkness in a grave, isn't it? Aw, I'm sorry. You're probably feeling real awful right about now. 

We'll fix that. It'll just take a few days, and you'll be good as new. 

"Welcome back," I say, smiling. "You've been gone for way too long. About half a year, in fact. Took that long for people to stop visiting your grave so often, so we could sneak in and get your body. We'll brief you on what's happened recently once you're all healthy and ready to go. There's just a few more things to do." 

The monitor next to your bed beeps a little faster. Last thing you remember, you were in a hospital. This place sort of looks like one, but not quite. And.. did this person just say you were DEAD?!

You chance a look down at yourself, eyes wandering over the countless stitches and few discolored patches. You try to speak, wanting to voice your concerns and fear, but nothing but a horrible airy groan comes out, and you wince, immediately shutting up. It feels like someone grabbed your vocal cords with their bare hands and stretched them as far as they could before rolling them in a pile of sand, and then stuffing them back into your neck. Who knows. Maybe that did happen.

As for the rest of you, everything looks normal. There's an IV tube sticking out of your right arm, with some opaque pinkish liquid trickling into your veins. Not counting the stitches and purple-black bruises littering your body, you seem fine. 

It's just inside that feels like hell. Your organs- they've been tampered with, you know this for sure- but to what extent?!

"Ready to go back out into society?" I interrupt your thoughts, knowing you've probably got lots of questions and concerns. Taking your arm, I gently help you off the bed and across the room to a mirror there. The IV pole makes a squeaking sound as it rolls across the white tiles. 

Leaning heavily against me for support, you look in the mirror. You freeze when you see your reflection. "Hhh-" you wheeze, heart monitor spiking even farther, and try to scramble back. The white hospital gown we dressed you in flutters with the movement. 

"Hey, calm down!" I grab your arm to steady you and keep you from hurting yourself, and push the hair out of your eyes. Sweat coats your forehead, and it glistens on my thumb when I pull my hand back. "Don't be nervous. You'll be up on that stage with a billion fans soon. Don't worry, you'll look better in a little bit."

You shake your head wildly, eyes flickering between me, the exit, and the mirror. "What did you-" you manage to say that much before the pain catches up, making your eyes water. 

"We just brought you back," I offer in explanation. 

"I didn't want- hhhheehhh- I don't-!"

"Hey! Shhhh, it's okay!" You don't stop struggling. "What's wrong? Do you not want to be here?" No answer, so I continue talking while I drag you back to your bed. "You're receiving your Lifetime Achievement Award in a week! Don't you want to attend the ceremony?!"

You attempt to get out of bed, but I push you back and hold you there. "Get the anesthesiologist! She's acting out again!" I yell, and hear footsteps running. 

Soon enough for you, the world goes temporarily black again. If we did our job right, it'll never have to go out for more than ten hours ever again.

Personally, I can't wait to see you out there on the stage again, receiving your LAA. True musical artists like you just don't come around often. We can't lose another to their 27th year again- we just can't! And if reanimating the dead is what it takes, then so be it. Eventually you come around to love us for this. It's a gift, really. A gift to you, from us, with love.