Next one I typed up, in response to this prompt, where anyone can be brought back to life, for a price. Still want to do a bit more with this one (had some other ideas that popped into my head for this world), but for now, here's what there is.
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“Alright, viewers, it’s time for Mr. Lee to spin the Wheel of Angels. Mr. Lee, just to confirm, you are aware that the spin is irrevocable. The resurrection of your beloved leader must be handled by the angel whose name the wheel lands on.”
“I’m aware of that, yes. Having him back is the most important thing.”
“Then spin the wheel, Mr. Lee. Resurrection awaits!”
The studio audience roared as Angus Lee gave the wheel a mighty pull, the names of angels whizzing by too quick to read at first, then gradually slowing. Michael, Daniel, Aria, Gabriel, Lillith, the names went round and round. Angus watched with bated breath, excitement and dread taking their turns running across his face as one name or another popped up. Finally, the wheel settled on one of the names and the look of worry on Angus’ face proved his disappointment.
“Ah, the ever-just Michael. Probably not the choice you wanted given who you came to bring back from the other side, but here we are.”
“Yes. Here we are.”
“Such vitriol. You’ve not even seen the fruit of your request yet. Well, enough talk. Let’s get to what we’re all here for. Michael? Care to join us?”
The lights in the studio dimmed to a growing crescendo of fanfare. The audience began clapping rhythmically along with it as spotlights spun around the set and fog filled the air. Lasers shot through the fog, tracing a number of angelic forms roaming a graveyard and raising exuberant forms from their respective graves. Then with a massive flash of light, the smoke cleared and the angel Michael stood in the center of the stage, dapper as ever in his designer suit.
“So, Angus Lee, you are here to bring back to life the long-deceased leader of your organization, the notorious white supremacist Winston Marshall. A man deplorable by any rational standard, a man with little regard for other races, and not much more for women, either. This is the man you brought back among the living?”
“Yes, but if I may ask…”
“No, you know that’s not how this works. Your confirmation is all I need.”
With a flourish, Michael spun around, pointing an arm towards an empty chamber that had illuminated at his gesture. The motion also triggered the splitting of his suit as his wings unfurled and the remnants of the well-tailored garment falling to the stage. The studio’s choir began to sing as Michael lifted into the air and drifted over to the chamber, sparks dancing from one tip of his finger to the next. The sparks soon transitioned to a full conflagration of flames and bolts of electricity wrapped around the empty compartment.
“Now, this might not be the most unpredictable resurrection in the show’s history, but these ones certainly make for fun ones!” Michael said between flashes of light, a figure beginning to take shape in the room still engulfed in pyrotechnics.
Almost as soon as the body within appeared fully formed, the studio lights went utterly dark, an acrid smell of smoke hanging in the air. When the lights came back up, Angus and Michael no longer stood on the stage, but in the chamber with the newly-fleshed body, Angus fidgeting in a seat across from it and Michael leaning without a care against the rear wall. The prone figure on the floor had yet to awaken, but appeared to be that of a young black woman without much muscle tone to speak of. Michael stepped away from the wall, lifted the body onto the chair opposite Angus, then muttered under his breath as he placed a finger on the new occupant’s forehead before returning to the wall and speaking once more.
“Mr. Marshall. Welcome back from the great beyond.”
“What new trickery is this, Lucifer?” the resurrected Winston Marshall said, before covering his mouth, eyes wide in indignation.
“No trickery here, Mr. Marshall. You’re truly back on Earth, mortal once more, free from the torments of whatever section of Hell you’ve been calling home. Mr. Lee here, a member of your infamous Order of the Superiors, chose to bring you back to lead, though I’m not sure how happy they’ll be to welcome you back.”
“What’ve you done, boy? Out ta humiliate me, destroy us from the inside?”
“No, negress. Er, ma’am. Er, sir.”
“Negress?” Winston shot to his feet to lunge forward, stopping short when he saw the newly-darkened skin of his arm and hand before him.
With a simple motion, Michael waved him back to his seat. “He had every intention of returning you to your flock, but he had the misfortune of luck being on karma’s side tonight.”
“Luck? You been gamblin’ with mah life, boy?”
“Gambling as so many do nowadays, Mr. Marshall. Who can pass up the opportunity to bring someone back from the dead?”
“No, this isn’t natural.”
“Natural or not, it is real. Now you should know a couple things about your resurrection. First of all, you are practically invulnerable to harm in that nothing but old age can take your life once more. Mind, that does not mean you cannot feel pain. It simply means that no wound can kill you. Second, you will find you are unable to harm anyone through direct or indirect means, whether assault, theft, or any other sort of criminal activity. You will also find that causing emotional distress to others will be quite unpleasant as well.”
“Then why bring me back? I was already suffering.”
"Yes, and you still are. Nothing has changed on that front.”
“But why?”
The room went dark and the host stepped back onto the stage.
“Why indeed, audience?”
“Because,” they replied, “Heaven. Is. Boring!”
“Quite so, quite so indeed. Please join us next time for the next exciting batch of those hoping for a resurrection and the unintended consequences brought about as a result! Until then, I’m out!”
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