Merrill.
A name I knew well, much like the beasts I hunt daily. I am no indian, no Cree,
 , not a Sioux, not even Cherokee much as that race intermingled with the Europeans.
Better to be absorbed than destroyed; only to reabsorb others. Shame is better
than death, but in our case death is now only a state of becoming a slave to
another.

  The grand MAD scientist scheme worked. By freezing the brains and ,even
better, the entire nervous system of brain-dead recently deceased, they were
able to ressurect the dead. The wonders of bio-synthetic flesh have turned us
into a rather grotesque society: The dead serve the living, and the living
have forgotten what is was like to truly fear death. Oh, I guess the fear of
being enslaved till this master dies is fear inducing, but not the final end.

 By enabling a nervous system to adapt to synth-flesh, it becomes close to
invulnerable... as long as strong materials are used to house the brain. Some
of the first "masters" learned this and started the habit of using magnesium
and aluminum instead of the original steel and teflon skulls. After realizing
this was the way to go, only need to threaten the beast with crushing the skull.
What laws existed then to protect a "deadhead" if the raiser decided to crush
his poor brittle skull with a hammer?... Early on the only deadies seen were
those stolen from morgues and graveyards in the dark.

 Sometimes a deady remembers more than the "owner" wants; who it was, what it
did before it's owner enslaved it from the depths of that long sleep. Most
often a set of shock treatments will settle the poor thing down. Things
are truly going to hell. I have hunted 14 year old girls, dancing on their
brother's grave; another slave to do their work; 90 year old grandmothers
breaking their grandkids legs to get " up with the jones " who have 1 more
deady working for them than she does. It's a sad morning when guys like
me have more work than the average citizen, and the only thing I get arrested
for is smashing the victim to bits and not cleaning up the sidewalk.

Oh Merrill, he was a good buddy of mine, stayed out of the business; to his
favor I say. We had seen some dark days, when pollution smelled better than
air, toxins were sold as health medicines and politicians ruled the cash flow
. When the first deady was anounced I cheered and prayed like everyone else.
Not Merrill. He stood in that dark bar cursing technology and hoping for a
sneak nuke strike from the conglomorate of Palestinian countries. No dancing,
no calling to get on the list, just warm dark tears. I wish I'd known why then.

 Thinking stupidly that he was crying for the wife and children he'd lost
years ago, before the machines took over the driving, I placed my hands on his
shoulder. The waves of pain ruffled through him, and he turned to me. I swear
on my own grave, that he knew. The black look in those old brown eyes of his, I
had never seen before. Disgust and hatred mixed with a slight pang of pity..
I can see the growl in the way his lips were pulled back: only a word he said
to me, just one, "obscene".

 Till later I never knew what he meant. The next few months unfolded in a warm
summer state, real but fantasy at the same time. The deadie's started to
become the backbone of America's economy, while violence to them became faster
and faster to see. We lost Merrill one late September day. He had been holing
up in his apartment, a real rat's nest. I encouraged him to get out and see the
sun. Still looking like a leprous, asylum refugee, he climbed down the fire
escape and joined me for a short walk in the sunshine. We didn't talk much,
but then I didn't invite him along for the talk either. Reaching Townsend lane
and Main Square I thought he started to get squirrlly, so I turned around to
head back for 14B; home pad that is.

 Merrill had other ideas; down the road was an old cafe' he'd always loved, and
was intent on getting a good cup of expresso. The wind seemed to me a bit cool
, so I chose to join him. The coffee was good for him, or maybe it was the
fresh air, what it was I'll never know. We sat laughing at the doomsayers and
magicians who "saw the end of the world"... . When suddlenly a scuffle began.
I couldn't tell exactly who it was, but they were getting loud. Merrill tried to
ignore and kept drinking his coffee, but it spilled louder and closer to us.

 Suddenly a young girl , maybe 17 maybe 20, couldn't tell then, appeared
behind Merrill's back.. screaming in something aproaching spanish..harsh
and gutteral, all I could tell was she really meant whatever it was she was
saying. The object of her screamimg wove in and out of the crowd, a dark
haired young man; dead as doornails; who somewhat resembled the yelling girl.
Nearby a Euro screamed "No you don't , I saved him, he's mine!" . The Euro
was a pale faced man, with large costly diamonds about his neck, and a squeeky
voice on the edge of a castrasto's tone. By this time the deady had truly
recognized his sister and headed in the general direction of her voice.

  He swaggered towards her 5 feet away from our table, when the Euro gave out a blood
curdling scream and broke for the escaped deady. As he reached the brother,
momentum took over, shoving all three into Merrill's chair. The scuffle
carried on for a moment next the table, and I saw the shiny reflection of
a piece of steel. The Euro had been hurt, his cries of pain were loud, but
he fought like mad. "Fine, here you can have him again". Merrill had reached
out to grab the table and get out of the fracas when the Euro's Deady hammer
flew round and slammed Merrill in the skull. Blood sprayed and bone shattered
, I moaned in visual pain. Both the deady and his sister took this new
distraction and ran, the Euro flowed after them, belying his weakness and
left Merrill with out even apolgizing. Police arrived and the meat wagon
came for my friend. Still bedazed I allowed them to take him off..had I any
sense I'd have finished the Euro's hack job then.

I followed them to the nearby hospital, where Merrill was placed on life
support. It was then I realized, being without family, he'd become one of the
poor that get turned to immortal slaves. I did the job.. electricity is cheap
and easy these days. I no longer have friends just enemies. The "owners" all
think that because they have the technology and the money they can rule all;
even to the point of being immune to becoming a slave deady, the old steel
skulls are up for sale on the blackmarket, if you pick the right seller; the
wrong one will just prepare to do the work and then grab you as a deady!

 Old weapons abound where the deadies work, so i scarred myself to be like
one of them; small groups of owner's have been hit by terrorists this week.
I wonder if they even consider us?....	 bazookas and grenade launchers do
a great job of crushing steel and titanium skulls.