Quantum Undertaker

Chapter 1: The Last Goodbye Business

The quantum resurrection chamber hummed with its familiar blue glow as I adjusted the calibration settings. Another day, another temporary revival. Client number 2,045 of the year sat nervously in the observation room, wringing his hands as the countdown began.

I am Mei Tanaka, and I raise the dead for a living. Temporarily, of course.

'Remember, Mr. Sato,' I said into the intercom, my voice practiced and professional, 'you have exactly sixty minutes. The quantum signature cannot sustain consciousness beyond that.' He nodded, eyes fixed on the chamber where his wife would soon appear.

The technology was deceptively simple in appearance – a glass cylinder filled with quantum-sensitive particles that could capture and project consciousness stored in the quantum field. Dr. Webb called it 'consciousness echoes.' I called it a way to pay my rent.

As the chamber filled with the characteristic fog that preceded every resurrection, I noticed something odd about Mr. Sato's behavior. His nervous energy had shifted to focused attention, and he was pulling out what looked suspiciously like a prepared questionnaire.

'Sir,' I said sharply, 'I remind you that these sessions are strictly for personal closure. Any attempt to—'

The chamber chimed, interrupting my warning. Mrs. Sato's form materialized, as perfect as the day she died three weeks ago. But before her consciousness fully settled, Mr. Sato was already asking about access codes to their joint accounts.

I reached for the termination switch, but a hand grabbed my wrist. I turned to find Dr. Webb standing behind me, his usual pleasant smile gone.

'Let it play out, Mei,' he said softly. 'Some goodbyes are more complicated than others.'

That was the moment I should have known something was wrong. But like the dead we temporarily revived, I was just going through the motions, blind to the larger forces at play.

I didn't realize then that this was the last normal day I would have as a quantum undertaker. Tomorrow, Yuki Chen would walk into my office, and everything would change."

Chapter 2: The Chen Case

Yuki Chen arrived exactly at 9 AM, clutching a quantum resurrection application form that had clearly been filled out multiple times. Her hands trembled as she pushed it across my desk, smudged erasures visible under the fluorescent lights.

'My mother,' she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 'Hanako Chen.'

I scanned the form, my trained eye catching inconsistencies immediately. Cause of death listed as 'natural causes' but time of death redacted. Corporate affiliation section left conspicuously blank. Three different dates of birth crossed out.

'Ms. Chen,' I began, using my professional tone, 'there are several discrepancies here that—'

'Please,' she interrupted, sliding a certified payment chip across my desk. 'I know the cost. I can pay double.'

The desperation in her voice triggered a memory I'd spent years burying. Another daughter, another desk, another form. Me, ten years younger, begging for one last chance to say goodbye to my father after the quantum resurrection deadline had passed.

I pushed the memory away and focused on the form. 'The information needs to be accurate. The quantum signature—'

'I understand,' Yuki said, leaning forward. 'But some details... they're classified. Corporate privacy protocols.'

That should have been my second warning. Corporate involvement always complicated things. But something in Yuki's eyes – that raw need for closure – made me pause.

My terminal chimed with an incoming message from Dr. Webb: 'Approved for priority processing. Proceed with Chen resurrection.'

I looked up at Yuki, who was now staring at her hands. 'When did your mother pass?'

'Three days ago.' A tear fell onto the form. 'They said it was sudden. Natural causes.'

But natural causes don't come with corporate classification levels. Natural causes don't require redacted death certificates. And they certainly don't get priority approval from Dr. Webb.

I should have trusted my instincts and declined the case. Instead, I reached for my scheduling tablet. 'We can perform the resurrection tomorrow morning. Eight AM.'

Yuki's relief was palpable, but as she stood to leave, I noticed something else – fear. Not the usual anxiety of someone about to confront a deceased loved one, but something deeper, more primal.

'Ms. Chen,' I called as she reached the door. 'Is there anything else I should know?'

She paused, hand on the doorknob. 'Just... thank you,' she said, and hurried out.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the inconsistent form. In the reflection of my desktop screen, I caught a glimpse of movement – Dr. Webb watching through the observation window, speaking quietly into his comm unit.

The Chen case was already different. I just didn't know how different it would turn out to be."