Dr. Lamber shuffled through some papers, glanced at the top of one of them, and nodded, apparently satisfied.
Stanley sighed. "This is going to be a long interview, isn't it?"
"What made you call it an interview?"
Stanley felt at least thirty-five percent less sane as he walked out of his psychological examination, but he was pretty sure they'd stamp his file "Not a Whacko."
"I can't believe you made me go through that," he told Veronica as they walked down the hallway.
"You've been dead. We have to make sure that a professional finds you mentally competent to sign the contracts that are going to bring lots of money to you and Project Second Chance."
"Fair enough."
"Anyway, your physical exam is going to suck much worse."
"Well, helloooooo Stanley!" said Dr. Arnzin as Stanley walked into the examination room. This guy looked barely old enough to be playing doctor with a co-ed, let alone performing duties as a medical professional. His memory was fuzzy, but Stanley thought he might have been the scientist he punched out after his resurrection. "How are your dead bones doing today?"
"They've been deader."
"Good, good, good. That's good. Have a seat on that ice-cold stool and we'll look you over, okay?"
Stanley sat down on the metal stool and gave a friendly wave to the not-particularly-well-hidden camera on the wall. He didn't mind them recording him, but he did mind them insulting his intelligence by trying to hide it.
"Let's start by checking your pulse," said Dr. Arnzin, wrapping the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around Stanley's arm and inflating it. He glanced at the readout and nodded. "No pulse. Good."
"Can I see?"
Dr. Arnzin showed him the display screen. All three numbers read zero. "Pretty hard to have a pulse when you don't have any blood. Just wanted to make sure nothing was squirming around in there."
"I don't have any blood?"
"Not a drop. It's being stored in jars in a freezer somewhere in the facility. Do you want to see it?"
"Nah."
"I guess there isn't any reason to check your heartbeat," said Dr. Arnzin with a wink. "Not gonna hear a lot of activity in that area, now are we?"
Stanley pressed his palm to his heart. Nothing. "I'm not sure I like this," he admitted.
"Oh, don't let it bother you. I know I wouldn't."
"So isn't blood used to, y'know, carry oxygen around the body?"
"The red blood cells, yes."
"Then why do I need to breathe?"
"You don't. You're just used to it."
"Huh?"
"Try to hold your breath. Watch what happens."
Stanley sucked in a lungful of air and then held it.
And held it.
And held it some more.
"See? Isn't that great?" asked Dr. Arnzin.
"It's messed up," said Stanley, still not breathing.
"No, no, no, messed up would be if you needed to breathe but couldn't. I almost suffocated once and let me tell you, it's not an experience I plan to repeat any time soon if I can help it. I really envy you, Stanley. Do you realize that if you were buried alive you could keep living in your coffin until you were rescued?"
"What if nobody rescued me?"
"Well, you'd have sufficient time to burrow your way to the surface."
"You know, that just doesn't thrill me at all."
Dr. Arnzin patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, now, don't be that way. Do you want to embrace eternal life, or do you want to be like those whiny vampires?"
"Sorry."
"The best part for you is that your body heals itself at an absurd rate. In a day or two we'll be able to take off that cast. Not bad, considering that your bone was pulp."
"Okay, I will admit that it's a pretty decent side effect."
"Let's take your temperature. Or I could just look at the thermometer on the wall."
"I'm room temperature?"
"In theory. Open up."
Stanley opened his mouth and Dr. Arnzin stuck a thermometer under his tongue. "Oh, Stanley, you have no idea how much I wish it was me who'd been struck by that milk truck."
"It didn't strike me. It fell on me."
"Still, regardless of how your death came about, I truly envy you."
"Have you seen my dick?"
"Yes. Not attractive. But that's a small price to pay for what you've been given. You're destined for great things, Stanley Dabernath."
"Well, not to seem ungrateful, but even with a fully intact penis I'd trade you places in a second."
Dr. Arnzin nodded, looking forlorn. "If only that were possible." He removed the thermometer from Stanley's mouth and glanced at it. "Ah, it's a bit chilly in here. Now, if you don't mind, we're going to get some hair samples, tissue samples, saliva samples, fingernail samples, urine samples, and stool samples."
"Would you like a booger, too?"
"Actually, yes, let's get a mucus sample while we're at it."
"Y'know, maybe I wouldn't trade places."
"Oh, now this isn't gonna happen," said Stanley, marking the offending clause in his contract with a yellow highlighter. "Neither is this. Or this. And a big fat 'hell no' on this one."
"Sir, don't you think we should bring in a lawyer?" asked Martin. They sat next to each other in Stanley's room, pages of the contract spread out over his waterbed.
Stanley shook his head. "I've written up plenty of contracts that screw people over. I know what to look for."
"Still, I think an attorney would be a good idea, just to be safe."
"I don't have any money for an attorney, and I don't need to pay one of those bloodsuckers to tell me that this contract is crap." Stanley went back to work with his highlighter. "Hell no, hell no, hell no, fuck no, hell no…"
Martin looked over the contract pages. "Sir, you should probably leave in a clause or two so that there's something left to sign."
"But this contract is horseshit." Stanley tapped one of the pages with his index finger. "Look at this, seventy percent of my income goes toward the costs of my resurrection and upkeep! Screw that! Look what they're charging me for room and board! Bastards!"
"Yes, it's an unfair contract, but technically you're a ward of Project Second Chance. You're lucky to be getting this much say in the matter."
"I don't need them. I'll march right on out of this dump."
"You need your injections."
"They can't keep those from me."
"Sir, you're a zombie. You should probably stay in the care of those people who know what to look for if there are any…zombie-related problems."
"I know, I know, I'm not going anywhere," said Stanley, pushing the contract page aside. "But c'mon, they're trying to take merchandising rights! If there's going to be a Mr. Corpse action figure, and I think there will be, I want final say on that decision, not that Brant wanker." He looked over at the camera. "Sorry, Brant wanker!"
"I completely understand, sir," said Martin. "That's why I'm pushing for a lawyer."
"You know, Martin, technically I'm not your boss anymore. You don't have to keep saying 'sir' to a zombie."
"Okay."
"You can if you want to, though."
"No, I'm fine to drop it."
"Oh. Well, good. It was weird anyway." He gathered the pages of the contract into a pile. "I should just throw this whole thing away and make them start from scratch. No way in hell am I signing this. I'm dead, not brain-dead."
There was a knock at the door.
"Since they're actually knocking, that must not be Brant," Stanley remarked. "Come on in!"
Veronica opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. "Hello there," she said with a smile. "The people spying on your every move tell me you're unhappy with the contract."
"Yeah, I'm not signing it. They can go fuck a monkey."
"May I ask what the problem is?"
"It's a crap contract."
"It's actually very fair. It allows Project Second Chance to recoup their investment while making sure that you're given a reasonable percentage of the profits. You'll be a rich man."
"I'm glad to hear that, but we've got some serious negotiating to do."
"The contract isn't negotiable."
"Every contract is negotiable."
"Not this one."
"Aw, c'mon, they're asking me to sign my whole life away!"
"No, you signed your life away when you died. You belong to Project Second Chance, Stanley. If you sign the contract, all of us will benefit. If you don't, you'll do nothing but spend your days sitting in this room, watching television and waiting for your next injection. Do you want to be a superstar or a couch potato?"
"Will you feed me grapes while I watch TV?"
"Stanley-"
"Sorry, but I'm not signing it. These monkey-fuckers can keep me locked up all they want. I don't give a shit; I've got TiVo."
"They're privately funded. Without being able to financially exploit your celebrity, they may not be able to afford your extremely expensive injections."
"So, what, they'd let me ooze away?"
"Nobody would let you ooze away. What would happen is that somebody who could afford to pay would take over the project. What kind of experiments do you think the government would want to perform on you if they had the opportunity?"
"Ghastly ones, sir," said Martin, helpfully.
"Shut up, Martin." Stanley sighed in frustration. "You know, Veronica, this would have been much more effective if they'd sent you in here to bat your eyes and offer me a blow job."
"Trust me, I was much nicer than Brant would have been."
"Well, yeah, that goes without saying." He scowled and did his best Brant imitation. He "'If you don't sign that contract, your liver will be under a microscope by Thursday.'"
"That's not a bad impression," said Veronica.
"Thanks. It works better with a splintery stick up your ass, but I don't have one handy."
"I could get you one."
Stanley shook his head. "No thanks. But I've gotta say, you're hot when you resort to blackmail."
"It's not blackmail. It's just the facts."
"Uh-huh. Well, here's the deal. I'll think about signing this crap contract to avoid being sliced up by government scientists. Think about it. I'll also think about that blow job."
Veronica turned to Martin. "Is there an upper limit to how much he's willing to embarrass himself?"
"No ma'am."
"Actually, there is," Stanley told her. "But it's a few notches past bestiality, so you don't want to see it."