[ WP ] '' Death Insurance '' is a paid subscription service that brings a loved one back to life for the next 24 hours after their death in order to say goodbye . You awake after your death to discover you were a recipient of a gift subscription from an unknown benefactor .

Everyone knows that it hurts to die. What they do n't tell you is how badly it hurts to *come back. * 
 
 I see it all day long; the orderlies ( is n't that cute? Call them'orderlies' when you hire them so they think they're wheeling living patients around instead of hoisting cadavers! Makes them less likely to turn around and quit on the spot! ) place the client into the ReAnimus machine and do their little check -- -BPC; breathing-pulse-color; you have to be sure the client is well and truly dead before you turn the thing on or else there can be a lawsuit -- -strap'em in and at my signal the lights flash and suddenly the corpse jackknifes in his or her bonds. They died during a seizure? They're still seizing; wo n't stop until we get them clear of the rig. GSW? They leak. They're the reason the floor in the chamber is coated with anti-slip rubber; it prevents falls and is easy to hose down. Infarcts can feel their exploded hearts quivering uselessly in their chests. The ones that fell are hardest to look at; sacks of splintered bone wrapped in mushy discolored skin. Like human bananas gone bad. 
 
 I can feel the familiar rush of chilled airflow. I know without opening my rolling eyes that this is the ReAnimus chamber. Just hours ago, I was lead tech on the revival crew. My job was to turn the machine on, help the'client' out of the machine, calm them down and then explain that he or she had been the beneficiary of a Death Insurance policy, meaning they had been revived for exactly twenty-four hours from the time of revival, and that it would be prudent to use this precious gift to set their affairs in order and say their final goodbyes to loved ones. Sometimes they want me to hold them awhile, cry with them, pray. One woman ran out of the chamber buck-naked, laughing and shrieking -- -- said she was gon na hunt down the sonofabitch that beat her to death, and bring him with her this time. When the retrieval crew got to her, she'd done just as she promised: used his own guns on her ex until his head was little more than strawberry jello. He did n't have a policy. 
 
 Until roughly twelve hours ago, I did n't think I did, either. But now that the gloved hands are helping me free of the ReAnimus' plastic exoskeleton, I can feel the air whistling through the neat hole at the base of my skull. My teeth taste bloody as I smile at the unfamiliar crop of techs, nodding along with their questions so they let me go and track down whomever killed me.
