The invader's presence cast a pall over Johnny's birthday celebrations. The existing tensions between the guests– Johnny and Lisa's failing engagement, the shameful affair– all seemed insignificant in the face of his incursion. The stranger carved a wake of discomfort as he mingled among them, sadistically drinking in their unstated outrage.
"Revived" was the official term, the one the Ministry used. Behind closed doors, people called them vultures. The wealthy elite, bored with their perfect lives, could purchase wholesale the identities of terminated people. With a handsome fee paid to the Ministry, they simply picked up where the deceased had left off: his occupation, his friends, his social engagements. Anyone who failed to humour the Revived, to pretend that they know him like they knew his predecessor, was apprehended by the Ministry for Quickening. It was wildly corrupt: the common people were forced into a morbid charade for the delight of the super elite.
Lisa was approaching her breaking point. "You know that's like the third time you've told me that joke tonight?" she protested between fake laughs.
Steven grinned wickedly. Of course he knew. It was one of Peter's favourites. He used to tell it all the time, according to the dossier. He was toying with them, tasting their despair, savouring their grief.
He looked nothing like Peter. He didn't have his ever-blinking, angelic eyes. His serene glow. His enchanting spectacles. Steven had chosen to make no attempt. To be audacious.
Mark sat slumped against the wall. The desecration of Peter's memory made him nauseous. He watched Lisa for signs of distress. Some self-destructive part of him begged for an opportunity to thrash the vulture. He and Lisa exchanged a brief sympathetic glance. It was unbearable.
Lisa disengaged from the Revived and waited long enough that she could plausibly deny her intentions. Finally, she acted.
"Hey everybody, let's go outside for some fresh air!" She announced. Murmurs of agreement rolled through the room. It was a reasonable request; something Peter would have agreed to. The party guests filed out, and Lisa shut the door as soon as Steven was outside. She turned back, exasperated, to Mark. Her head was swimming. She had been guzzling champagne all night to chase away the ghost of Peter. Mad with grief, she threw herself at Mark.
Mark received her advances reluctantly. He was confident this wouldn't go far, given the timing.
"What are you doing?" he asked, "I mean, are you crazy? Everybody's here!"
"No they're not. They're all outside," Lisa observed astutely.
"She-devil," Mark lamented. "You planned this all along." They resumed making out.
The door slammed shut. Their surprise rapidly boiled into terror as they saw the mad, piercing eyes of the Revived.
"What's going on here?" Steven asked snidely.
Mark and Lisa rose to their feet only to stand helplessly silent.
"Why are you doing this?" Steven demanded. He spoke with his hands. Peter never spoke with his hands.
Lisa reflexively grasped Mark's arm as the Revived approached them. "I love him," she said timidly.
"I don't believe it!" Steven shot back. Mark ignited. He knew himself that Lisa didn't love him, but what did this goddamned vulture know? He was nobody to them: some disgusting, soulless husk.
Mark didn't know what did it. Maybe he felt like his secret was about to be discovered. Maybe he just didn't care anymore. The Ministry, expiry, Quickening, it was all fucking nonsense. He thought of Chris-R standing tall on the rooftop as his counter rolled down. And of Peter. He wouldn't let anyone do this to Peter.
"You don't understand anything, man." He really didn't. Not strife, not loss, only luxury and sick voyeurism. Mark steeled himself as he crafted his words: he would evade Quickening, but he wouldn't pretend. This man's wealth didn't make him their friend. Their advisor. Their psychologist. His presence was purchased; his opinions meant nothing.
"Leave your stupid comments in your pocket!" Mark roared.