Frank died.

A bug looked down at him. No–not a bug, bigger, with lips; sickly fat ones.

“Frank? Are you with us Frank?”

Frank focused on the bug, the room, his own skin. He looked down at his own naked body.

“What?”

The Bug sighed, as much as a bug can sigh.

“Death number forty-two is a success. Frank, what do you remember?”

Frank tried to sit up. But, he couldn’t. He noticed thick white straps holding down his arms and legs.

“What is going on here!”

The Bug stepped back, looking hurt.

“Frank? It’s me.” As a sign of good faith the bug unstrapped Frank and stepped back. If bugs could manage a hurt frown, this one sure could.

“What, what do you mean it’s you?” Frank stared the bug up and down. It’s body was mostly human.

“We–we’ve been working together for years.”

Frank almost laughed but instead…