Mother died at 05.20 am Thursday morning. She was 52. Why had she died? I certainly didn't know. She had gotten sick three months previously. It started with a serious worsening of her ever-present smokers' cough. Soon she was hacking and spluttering like one of Granddad's old outboard motors, hacking up phlegmy gobs of blood streaked spittle.

I couldn't help her! There are no doctors on this world anymore. Why would you need a doctor when we live in a world with no true death? Sure, eventually people's bodies give up on them - as they have since the dawn of time. One day your heart will stop beating, you lungs stop pumping and your brain will quietly and without fuss go off-line.

But now people can rise again after they have gone (albeit briefly) to meet their maker. They come back with a desire, a full-blown obsession and addiction for the very thing that brought them back from over the edge of beyond. The focus of their obsession - what was once called a Life Crystal but is now known by the street name of Regen 7.

Damn Boston Low, and damn the Cocytan's too. I must have cried for almost half an hour before I became aware of the "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" of the alarm clock. It was 7.35 am, Oh, Jesus! I was late for work! I had a job at The Factory. The Factory was the only growth industry in this blighted time. I hated working there, knowing I was as much a slave as the misguided walking dead.

I picked myself up from by the side of my mother's bed and wiped my eyes.

For a brief moment I consider phoning work to tell them that I wouldn't be coming in that day. I cursed out loud. Fool! I was living in the past - no body at the factory was allowed a day off work. There were no holidays, no bereavement days, no time off for good behavior. You worked 8 till 6, seven days a week -and you never, ever quit! Human rights were a secondary consideration to the smooth production of the Life Crystals.

Hastily pulling on my green worker's uniform I hurried, my eyes still red, out of the apartment. Judging by the stark silence in the block all the other residents had already left for work. I was going to be in serious trouble if I was caught.

The workers quarter of the ghetto was deserted. Birds sang feeble-minded songs as they flitted from the rooftops of the rotting apartment blocks. I pulled the hood up on my uniform - there were surveillance camera's (some hidden and some not so hidden) everywhere in the ghetto and I didn't want to be identified.

I walked quickly, the factory wasn't far but I had to cross some pretty exposed areas to get to it. All of these public areas were well covered by cameras and some might even have guards posted. I knew I had to be careful.

At Cocytus Square I stopped. The area seemed deserted. The only sound was the tinkling of the waterfall. I decided I had to go on.

I quickly skirted the perimeter of the square. My eyes darted to the huge statue of Boston Low in the centre of the square. He stood, proud and stern, his grey hand raised towards the future. A Cocytan (I couldn't say which one, they all look pretty similar to me) stood meekly by his side.

Their unity made me laugh. Earth hadn't heard squat from the planet Cocytus in over 30 years! And from the vague rumours that I'd heard Boston Low was living his joke of a life in a prison cell (although as befitting his revered stature, it was the most opulently luxuriant prison cell in the world).

Of course the official word was that Boston was very much alive (for the fourth time thanks to our wonderful Life Crystal technology) and living in his mansion in Florida.

I didn't know what to make of Boston. After the Attila incident he had been very vocal in his desire for furtherties to Cocytus. But when our leaders began the creation of large, crystal making facilities here on Earth (We were never told how we came by this new technology, although I suspect good old-fashioned espionage), Boston began protesting loudly and vehemently against the government.

Everything came to a head on October 17th 2049 when Low led a small army of anti-crystalists against the White House. Everybody knows what happened next. The uprising was swiftly and brutally put down. The anti-crystalistswere all slaughtered and burned in a huge bonfire on the White House lawn.

All except Low, his bullet-riddled body was saved from the fire and his soul wrenched back to this mortal coil.

The very next week Boston Low appeared on the Letterman show (Dave having recently been brought back from his much publicised fatal heart attack). Grinning widely and with his dead doll-eyes shining, Low urged us all to embrace the power of the Life Crystals. He then announced the creation ofthe biggest Life Crystal factory ever created, the Los Angeles Regen 7 MegaComplex, which he would be the guest of honor at the grand opening.

It is to this factory that I was now rushing. I left the square and it's two silent guardians behind me. The paving stones gave way to grey packed earth and in front of me loomed the smoking, beetle-black shape of The Factory. I checked my chronometer - it was 8.10. I was late and if I was caught I was dead!

The guard at the checkpoint couldn't see me as I hid in the shadows of the empty wages building. I scanned the opening looking for another way into the complex. If only I could get to the clocking in station I would be OK. The tiny portable hacking unit I carried inside my uniform would enable me to alter my start time to the norm. I could probably slip unnoticed into the line of fellow drones on the production line and I would be home free. But this was all irrelevant - I was caught outside and 50 ft high electrical fences surrounded the building. I had no chance. I sank to the ground and hung my head.

Suddenly I heard a sound, far in the distance but approaching quickly. It was the sound of a motor car. I looked down the factory road and I saw it - the slop truck! It was a dilapidated old petrol tanker that had been convertedto carry our daily food supply. The thick, pasty slop tasted like wallpaper paste, with just a hint of petroleum, but it certainly gave you the strength to carry on your work.

This was my chance. The truck was almost upon me so I drew further into the shadows. As the truck passed by I ranout and with only a small hesitation I was jumped onto the back. I quickly scaled the ladder and pressed myself flat against the roof of the tanker. The wind buffeted meand I held on for my life.

The truck stopped. I heard the driver talking with the guard and then the truck rolled on. I was inside the compound!

The truck came to a stop next to the kitchens. I quickly jumped down and looking around for any guards I ran overinto the main factory building.

Slipping quickly through the door I made my way to the clocking in machine. I fumbled in my pockets and inserted my card, hooked up the hacker and tampered my start time. I let out my pent-up breath. I couldn't believe it! I was safe! I had made it! I was going to live!

A hand clamped down on my shoulder!

'Mr Fraiser?' a voice said.

I was spun around and the face I saw was unmistakable. Sunken eyes, manic grin, a slightly green tinge to the skin- this was a guy who had died many, many times. It was Kurt Whitlock, the complex's security chief. Looking past him I saw two other big, brawny Regeners. They stared into me and smiled evilly.

'Y-yes... ?' I answered.

'Running a bit late are we?' It wasn't a question.

Whitlock punched me in the stomach and I felt the wind knocked out of me. I slumped to the floor clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe. 'Night-sticks, guys,' I heard Whitlock say to his men. The blows rained down and pain engulfedmy body and I spasmed and struggled feebly. My last thought as I died was 'Please, Please god! Don't let them bring me back.'

A void.

Darkness.

I wait.

Nothing

A green glow engulfs my being and I open my eyes...