When the girl from the asylum drowned in the lake that night, she thought it was the end of her life, but she was wrong.
With robots at fifty thousand dollars a unit, it was far more economical to use corpse labour – all it took was a two-thousand dollar animating pack in the brain, and a zombie worker, under the direction of a helmeted controller, could do just about anything except think.
Or so everyone said. But in the zombie dorms at night, with only the walking dead or roommates, things were not as they should have been. The girl from the asylum seemed to have more mental ability, not less, and someone was trying to kill her. Kill a dead girl?
Maybe there was more to heaven than an afterlife of manual labour in the company of a bunch of stiffs!