Stanley woke up feeling…good. At least in a physical sense. There was no trace of the pain from before, and no wave of dizziness when he got out of bed. He almost felt like doing some jumping jacks, but still wasn't entirely convinced that useful bits of flesh wouldn't fly off in the process.
"Ah, I'm glad to see you're up," said Brant, entering the room.
"Uh-huh, I'm sure you just happened to walk in here right as I got out of bed."
Brant smiled. "Well, of course we're monitoring you. You're a scientific phenomenon."
"Yeah, well, knock next time, asshole."
"We really do have to do something about that mouth of yours. Perhaps a swear jar is in order."
"Sure. Every time I say 'fuck' I'll drop a finger in it."
"No need to be morbid." Brant walked across the room and opened the closet door. "Some of these are your own clothes, and some are new. Put on whatever you'd like."
"Aren't you going to dress me?"
"Maybe later." He opened another door. "You have your own private bathroom, of course, with a shower. The cast is completely waterproof. Your, ah, scent should fade in a day or so, but until then you're welcome to be generous with the cologne you'll find in the medicine cabinet."
"Thanks."
"So, get ready, and then we'll head down for breakfast. You haven't eaten anything except intravenous fluids for two months, so I assume you're hungry."
"Yeah, I had myself a hankering for some brrrraaaaaaaains."
"Very amusing. Anyway, enjoy your shower, and I'll be back to walk you downstairs."
"Is it, y'know, safe?" Stanley asked.
"Is what safe?"
"The shower."
"Oh, certainly. Make it as hot as you'd like. We gave you your injection about three hours ago, so there's no danger of you going down the drain."
After Brant left, Stanley walked into the bathroom, stumbling a couple of times because of the cast. He opened the medicine cabinet and quickly scanned the contents. Nothing that could be used as a weapon, but he did have a nice large box of Q-Tips. He wondered how much earwax a living corpse produced.
He turned on the water. He stared in the mirror for a long moment, still horrified by his almost skeletal face. More importantly, though, he was really dreading what he might see when he removed his boxer shorts.
Please, all deities within hearing range, I beg of you, don't let me have a decomposed dick. Just spare me that one appendage and I'll be your slave for all eternity.
He stripped off his boxers. The most positive thing he could say about his penis was that it was still attached.
It wasn't like he'd ever be getting laid again anyway, but the process of decomposition could've been kind enough to spare his dick. Would that really have been so much to ask?
Stanley flipped up the toilet lid and took a long piss, terrified that he might spring a leak and hit himself in the eye. But at least his equipment seemed to be functioning fine.
He got in the shower. The hot water felt wonderful against his skin. He lathered himself up, tentatively at first, but Brant seemed to be right, no flesh was detaching. He stayed in there for about fifteen minutes, until the hot water ran out while he still had shampoo in his hair. He cursed and rinsed it out in the cold water, then grabbed a towel and dried himself off.
He brushed his teeth, trying not to gag as some foamy toothpaste leaked through the hole in his chin. He wiped off his mouth and noted that he didn't need to shave. He wondered if this meant that the hair on his head had stopped growing, too.
He returned to the bedroom and put on fresh underwear and white socks, then dressed in a pair of his own jeans and an unfamiliar orange polo shirt. He returned to the bathroom, combed his hair, and then stepped back in the bedroom just as Brant was entering.
"What did I tell you about knocking?" Stanley asked.
"My apologies."
"Were you spying on me in the shower? Pity about my dick, huh?"
"Are you ready for breakfast?"
"Sure. I'm always up for a good old bowl of Corpse-O's."
They left the room, walking into a barren, sterile white hallway. "So where are we?" Stanley asked.
"About one hundred feet underground," said Brant.
"So it's like we're all buried, huh?"
"If you wish to think of it that way. I prefer to think of us as being safe. Believe it or not, not everybody is entirely pleased with the idea that we've brought a dead human being back to life, and so precautionary measures are in order."
"This is a pretty decent place," Stanley noted.
"It's a rental. Surprisingly affordable."
"So what's with the biohazard sign on that door?" asked Stanley, pointing to a door at the end of the hall.
"That's the lab where your injections are synthesized. It's a very dangerous process."
"Can I go in?"
"No."
They walked for about a minute, making three or four turns, and then stopped at a metal door. Brant slid his security badge through the card reader and pulled the door open after the beep. They walked into a small room with a long table and several chairs.
"Ah, breakfast is ready," said Brant, gesturing to a plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage, along with two pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice. "Please, have the seat of honor."
Stanley sat down at the head of the table. The only other occupant of the room was a woman who sat at the other end, furiously typing on a laptop. She finished what she was doing and got to her feet.
"Mr. Dabernath, it's so good to finally meet you," she said, walking towards him. "Alive, anyway."
This woman was absolutely gorgeous. She had long black hair, slender features, and a body to die a second time for. She wore a tight red skirt and blouse that made Stanley want to just…
Remembering his hideous appearance, Stanley kept those thoughts in check.
"I'm Veronica Luxen," she said, extending her hand.
Stanley shook it. "Stanley Dabernath."
She smiled at him and didn't seem creeped out in the least by the way he looked. He watched to see if she frantically wiped her hand off on her skirt, but instead she casually placed it on her hip. "So how are you feeling this morning?"
"Alive."
"Ooooh, good one. Make sure you remember that. It'll be a perfect sound bite." She took a small notebook out of her breast pocket and quickly scribbled in it.
"This is your personal assistant," said Brant. "She'll be handling all of your public appearances and taking care of anything you need outside of this bunker."
"I have a personal assistant?"
"Yes. That would be Veronica. I explained that about two seconds ago."
"Don't be a prick. I was just surprised, that's all. I can't imagine that many walking corpses have personal assistants."
"You'll have your work cut out for you with this one," Brant told Veronica. "Especially his mouth. He has quite an affection for profanity."
"Oh, I think I'll tame him just fine."
Stanley sat there for a moment, thinking about how desperately he wanted to be tamed. Veronica gestured to his food. "Go on, eat up. You've got a busy day ahead of you."
Stanley took a bite of sausage, which was absolutely delicious. Veronica sat down next to him. "I guess you've had a lot to think about recently, haven't you?" she asked.
"You could say that."
"I admire your bravery. A lot of people wouldn't be able to cope with this."
"What makes you think I'm coping?"
"Well, for one thing, you're not lying on the floor in the fetal position. That's a good start. And you're mentally well-off enough to be rude to Richard here."
"Well, that's not so difficult." Stanley turned to Brant. "Fuck off, I'm eating."
"Actually, I am going to leave you two alone," said Brant. "I trust that Mr. Dabernath will behave himself."
"I'll do my best, but if she jumps me, it's not my fault."
"Understood." Brant nodded politely at Veronica and left the room.
"He's such a sweetie," said Stanley, shoving a bite of eggs into his mouth. "So what Personal Assistant organization did you get blacklisted by to get stuck with me?"
"Are you kidding?" asked Veronica. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Ooooh, that's a good one, too. If they ask you how you feel about being resurrected, you can say 'It was the opportunity of a lifetime.'"
"Seriously. You're the personal assistant to a corpse. That's gotta suck."
"I'm the personal assistant to a famous corpse. The Amazing Mr. Corpse. Let me tell you, Stanley, your fame is going to last for a lot more than fifteen minutes."
"What if I don't want the fame?"
"Then do it for the fortune."
"Maybe I don't want the fortune, either."
"I saw the movies that you distribute, if you can call them movies. Don't tell me that you're not in the exploitation business."
"Okay, fine, but there's a difference between selling weird movies and parading myself in public as a freak."
"You're not a freak, you're a-"
"-a scientific phenomenon, I know. But, c'mon, look at me. I've got a face that only a drunken coked-up lobotomized mother could love."
"I'm thinking we won't use that one as a sound bite. Don't be so caught up in your appearance. You're Mr. Corpse. People aren't expecting beauty."
"So I don't gross you out?"
"Not at all."
"What about now?" Stanley opened wide, showing her a mouthful of chewed-up eggs.
"I think we'd better get down to business."
"No, seriously. How can I not gross you out? I gross myself out. You should see my dick."
"Don't you think it's ironic that the world's first scientifically resurrected human being, a marvel beyond compare, feels the need to get attention by talking about his penis?"
"I just can't believe you're not grossed out by me."
"I don't find you gross. I find you fascinating."
"Nobody's ever told me I'm fascinating."
"Well, I'm not talking about your personality," Veronica said. "That I'd call adolescent."
"Okay, yeah, people have told me that."
"Stanley, focus. You'll have a psychological test as soon as Dr. Lamber gets here, and then a few physical tests just to make sure that undead body of yours is in good condition, and then you've got a press conference this evening. Are you comfortable talking in front of people?"
"I used to be, pre-zombie."
"Well, get back into it, because you'll be doing it a lot. They should be fairly generic questions. How do you feel, what was it like to be dead, that sort of thing. You'll probably be asked about the machine and chemicals that brought you back to life, but it's okay to admit that you don't know anything about them. Just be honest."
"Can I say that I was brought back by a DVD player and grape Kool-Aid?"
"No. Let me explain something to you. Your resurrection was shown on live television all over the world, but many people, perhaps even most people, think it was faked. They're sure you're phony. And when you do your press conference, I guarantee that somebody will accuse you of being some actor in makeup. So if you stand up there and make smart-ass comments, they're not going to believe that you're real."
"But that's what I am. A dead guy who makes lots of smart-ass comments. I'm thinking of eight or nine of them right now."
"Yes, but that's not what people expect from a resurrected corpse. I certainly encourage you to be funny, and especially to use the 'chance of a lifetime' joke, but you can't act like an idiot. Be charming and respectful. Can you do that for me?"
"Nobody is looking for a zombie to be charming and respectful. They're looking for me to devour human flesh and have body parts drop off. What if somebody decides to shoot me in the head?"
"Don't worry, the press conference will be secure. Would you like to watch your television special after you're done with breakfast?"
"You have it recorded?"
"Of course."
"Hell yeah!"
"Jeez, do you think they could pad this thing out any more?" asked Stanley, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth as they sat in his room; Stanley on the bed, Veronica on the recliner.
"Well, they had to fill a two-hour special," said Veronica.
"They didn't even get my biographical material right." Stanley picked up the remote control and fast-forwarded through a set of commercials. "Ah, here we go."
He watched on the television screen as Brant pulled the lever and the machine started pumping chemicals into his dead body.
Stanley shut off the video. "Maybe I don't want to see this."
"You've only been re-alive for a day," said Veronica. "You still need time to adjust."
"Yeah."
"Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah, why? Do I look like I'm not?"
"You just look a bit disturbed."
"Nah." He ran a hand through his hair. "So if you died, would you want to come back?"
"Absolutely."
"Even if you looked like this?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I just would."
"That's a lousy answer."
"I'm not the one who's supposed to be giving answers," said Veronica.
An unknown voice crackled over the speaker. "Dr. Lamber is ready for Mr. Dabernath."
Veronica got up off the recliner. "Okay, let's go prove that you're sane."