The greatest thing about being dead was the food. I mean, sure, I had to endure a knife in the chest and a creepy death-cuddle from the worst being in all the worlds to get to the food, but I couldn’t help but feel it was all worth it. Every sun-cycle I woke up, I pressed a panel on the wall, and a server appeared on the table. On the table. Like a menu. The server I was currently looking at was short, with a bald head and pale, grey eyes. I knew that it was a woman because her weird little skinsuit covered the chest. The skinsuits of the male servers only covered the hips. “What’s your name?”
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