Either I'm stubborn, or it's rigor mortis, but being dead didn't stop me from being a detective or finding my wife's killer. But it's tough out there for a zombie, and lately it's been getting tougher. These days the life-challenged have to register and take monthly tests to prove our emotional stability. See, if my kind gets too low, we go feral. I've been feeling a little down lately myself. So when a severed arm--yeah, just the arm--leaves a mysterious briefcase at my office, my assistant, Misty, thinks figuring out where it came from will keep me on track. But this case goes deeper and darker than I imagined, and my imagination gets pretty dark. Turns out the people after it know more about my past life than I can remember, and even more about what I've become.