020050525 13:40 • 
Remnant Technicians had placed her bones here one year ago to this day. I’d been here: watching, thinking… beginning. Small, black boxes at each end of the space defined the poles of the field. One whole year ago I’d been given the honor of laying my finger on their start pads.
Peering at the chalky skeleton today… I could discern no visible difference, though the stat readout hovering in the air beside told a different story.
Inside the reversion field, physical functions were flipped. Lost atoms were being sucked in from the exterior world; decay was rebinding, bones and bodily structures rising from dust and nothingness. Skin would crawl across the form, eventually, from dried husk to putrid, blackened goo to pale tissue to just the other side of living and breathing.
The reversion field would be downed and the Remnant, no longer simple remains, would be revived. Medical technicians would step in to instantly fix the Reaper’s handiwork. A life, once, once again.
I was thirty-three in 2001. Prosperous, in love, alive. While the technicians tell me I’d been party to vehicular accident, I don’t remember dying from it. I don’t remember dying at all.
I’d been excavated six hundred years after my death. After sitting a few years in various academic analysis morgues I’d been placed into a field for the slow reversal of entropy to take place. There’s the catch: the field works in real time. If you’ve been dead for six hundred years, it takes six hundred years to return your body to functional state.
Inside the reversion field in front of me are the remains of my beloved. She was pissed at me the last time we were alive, and while arguing I apparently hadn’t seen the semi barreling down on us. Counseling is available to help me through the next thirteen centuries, but for the moment I’m content just being by her side.