Part II
Al Robbins hobbled over to the body, a tape recorder in his hands. He had never been particularly mobile with two artificial legs, but he persisted with a determination he was sure few could match. Robbins clicked on the tape recorder, and began his initial examination. "The victim: John Smith. Time of death undetermined. Found in a dumpster outside of the maximum security prison. External lacerations to the stomach, apparently congealed since time of death." He set the tape recorder down on the table beside the body, and hobbled a little closer. "Scarring seems to indicate presence of electrical burns, along with intense bruising around the trachea. Body appears to be covered in a fine powder of some sort, although its chemical makeup is unknown. Of course, the obvious anomaly is the failure of—"
Robbins suddenly cut off, and gave a sharp cry.
On the table in front of him, the vic had suddenly, without warning, opened his eyes.
He looked around, curious brown eyes taking in the entire room. "Morgue," he said in a cheery but scratchy voice. "Brilliant!" He sat up, wiggling his fingers and toes and waving his arms around like he was testing them to make sure they still worked. "Not strapped down, not being threatened. Fantastic! Marvelous! Molto bene! I was sure that would work." He paused, and scrunched up his face. "Well, ninety-five percent sure. Seventy-five. Actually more like twenty-five. Twenty-five percent chance I'd actually manage to make it out alive, fifty percent chance I'd never wake up again, and twenty-five percent chance they'd keep my body around hoping I'd regenerate."
Robbins could hardly breathe, much less speak. He'd been sure the man was dead. He had been absolutely positive. And yet here he was, talking… to a living corpse.
"You…" Robbins managed to stutter. "You're…"
"Dead?" prompted the no-longer-dead man. "No, not really. Just stopped the left heart, let the right one give an occasional spasm to get the blood to my brain, that way I could kick start the whole system into full operation again. Popped myself into a little mini healing coma, and here I am, right as rain!"
Robbins was sure he was hearing the man correctly, but the words the not-so-dead-man was saying made no sense to him. Robbins had only one question he really felt he could ask at this point.
"Who are you?"
The man beamed at him. "Oh, terribly sorry," he apologized. "Being rude. Bad habit of mine." He leapt off the table, now completely naked save for the tag on his big toe, but not appearing to notice. He stuck out his hand. "Hello. I'm the Doc…"
And without warning, the man collapsed onto the ground.