Genre: science fiction, space opera

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Death is just a setback.

He can save humanity. All he has to do is die. Again.

Join the Ghost Corps. You'll live forever, they said. You'll save humanity, they said. They didn't say that to do it, first you had to die.

Three resurrections later, he's facing his most dangerous mission yet, subduing and arresting the most lethal enemy of mankind—the immortal king.

Tornahdo is already dead and this mission is codenamed "Lights Out."

To succeed, he must face an unbeatable, unkillable enemy, and this time—against all expectations for a ghost—find a way to keep himself alive...

A military science fiction with the haunting consequences of war...and an irreverent hero who just can't keep his mouth shut.

Excerpt from Chapter One

The air reeked of antiseptic and starch stiffened the pillowcase. If only the mind-numbing jabbering would stop.

Tornahdo pried open his eyes. The flattened blood bag above him, stenciled equipment and gray walls screamed military hospital.

He'd died. Again.

Spanish curses slipped out. His abuela would've taken a switch to him. He made the sign of the cross and kissed his fingertips.

After yanking the tube out of his arm, he pressed a thumb over the entry point. Thankfully, this time, he wasn't writhing on the floor in agony. Well, not yet.

A faceless android in a Ghost Corps uniform loomed over a bank of equipment displaying Tornahdo's name and vitals. First impression was right. Military hospital.

The weapons-grade yapping continued.

"Did you hear?" a youthful voice bragged. "He killed six of 'em last night."

"Yeah, but they don't stay dead. They never do."

"If Ultras didn't come back to life, their plasma wouldn't bring our own people back."

The transfusion of enemy blood healed the hole in Tornahdo's arm in seconds. He thumbed off the red smear and rolled over on the gurney.

An open door led to a sink and toilet built to let gravity do its work. Which meant this was a planet. You hadn't lived until you were in space, floating in zero gravity while your body's final twitches sent your corpse spinning.

Notices on the wall confirmed this was San Xavier in the Colonies of Man. Same place he'd bought it the first time.

This was getting old.

"He's awake." The pair of baby-faced orderlies ceased bickering with each other and blabbered at him.

"¡Silencio!" Pressing fingers against his brow, Tornahdo fought lacerating pain.

"But I was telling him that—"

"For the love of all that's holy, will you shut up!" He levered himself into a sitting position and jammed his hands against his temples. "You're enough to wake the dead."

"Sorry, sir."

"Don't call me sir. I work for a living."

"Yes, sir." Blushing, the orderly swallowed. "Sorry, sir. I mean—"

Mimicking a zipper across his lips, Tornahdo slid off the gurney onto unsteady feet.

The other orderly hustled forward and supported him.

He shook off the touch. Last thing he needed was boys fussing over him. You could bet when immortals came back to life, they didn't put up with nattering attendants.

He stumbled, cursing himself for his clumsiness.

"Sir, let me—"

Fists clenched, he turned on them. "Get. Out."

The slap of running feet ricocheted through his head. Sweet silence eased the pain.

The android paid no attention. Tornahdo was dead. Accounted for. Dismissed.

Two steps and fire erupted in every cell. Why did he not burst into flame? Would his body never get used to this rebirth business? Then the spasms kicked in, bringing the floor up at him with dizzying speed. Clutching for handholds, he crashed into a medical cart, which tipped over, cascading gear and equipment onto him.

When the real pain started, air evacuated his lungs. Every muscle clamped down in a full-body charley horse. White hot pain arched his spine.

Small wonder Ultras writhed on the ground when they revived. If you weren't dead already, rebirth would kill you.