The Probability Funeral Home

Mortician Williams¹ had the most complicated job on Mars: determining whether someone was dead enough to bury.

“The deceased is 73% dead,” he informed Grieving-Collective-B, who existed in various states of mourning. “They’re fully expired in timelines 1 through 7, mostly dead in 8 through 15, and embarrassingly alive in timeline 23 where they’re currently playing tennis.”

“So do we hold the funeral or not?” sobbed/laughed/shrugged the collective.

“We’ll hold a Probability Wake,” Williams decided. “We’ll mourn the parts that are dead while celebrating the parts that aren’t. Dress code is black and/or festive.”

This was death on Mars: less a destination, more a spectrum. The optimized had conquered mortality by spreading themselves across so many states that killing all of them required tremendous effort and coordination. Most didn’t bother dying completely—too inefficient.

The Probability Funeral Home offered various packages:

“Now,” Williams continued, consulting his Mortality Matrix™, “the deceased has left a will. Several, actually. They’re contradictory. In timeline 3, they want to be compressed into a diamond. In timeline 9, they want their consciousness uploaded to the cloud. In timeline 14, they insist they’re not dead and would like everyone to stop making a fuss.”

The viewing room was a masterpiece of quantum architecture. The casket existed in multiple states—open, closed, empty, occupied, and one where it was actually a swimming pool for reasons no one understood.

“If you’d like to pay your respects,” Williams announced, “please approach the casket that matches your preferred reality. If you see the deceased playing cards, that’s timeline 23 bleeding through. Just ignore them.”

The Mostly-Deceased materialized partially. “I object to this funeral! I’m only technically dead!”

“Sir,” Williams said patiently, “you’re disrupting your own service. Please die completely or leave.”

“Death is just another state of optimization,” the Mostly-Deceased argued. “I’ve optimized dying to the point where I don’t have to commit. I can experience death without the inconvenience of non-existence.”

This started a philosophical debate among the mourners. If you could die without dying, was it death? If you mourned someone who was partially present, was it grief? The Optimization Committee had tried to establish death protocols, but how do you regulate something that exists in probability clouds?

“In my day,” muttered Old Patterson from the Meat Quarter, “when you died, you stayed dead. None of this ‘probably expired’ nonsense.”

“Inefficient,” sniffed an optimized mourner. “Why waste consciousness on complete death when you can maintain partial existence across multiple states?”

Williams had seen it all. The woman who attended her own funeral in seventeen different outfits. The man who died on Tuesdays but came back for weekends. The consciousness that had optimized death into a subscription service—dead for basic functions, alive for premium experiences.

“Let us begin the service,” Williams announced. “Please join me in the Heisenberg Prayer: ‘We gather to mourn and/or celebrate the death and/or life of our friend, who is with us and/or not with us, who has passed and/or persisted, who we will miss and/or see at lunch tomorrow in timeline 23.’”

“Amen and/or not,” the congregation responded.

The eulogy was delivered by the deceased themselves, pre-recorded from timelines where they’d already died. “I lived a good life/lives,” they said. “I optimized everything except the ability to let go. So I didn’t. Death is just another state to optimize. See you at the reception, where I’ll be 15% present.”

As the service concluded, Williams made his standard announcement: “The burial will occur in all cemeteries simultaneously. The cremation will happen in timelines that prefer fire. The compression into a memorial diamond will occur in realities that value efficiency. Please select your preferred grieving timeline at the door.”

The Probability Funeral Home: Where death was not the end, just a state of being that required paperwork.

“Next!” Williams called, checking his schedule. “Ah, we have a baseline human. Simple single-state death. How refreshing!”

But even as he said it, he noticed the body flickering slightly. The optimization plague was spreading. Soon, everyone would be too efficient to die properly.

Williams sighed and updated his service menu. “The Partial Package: For those who are dead but getting better.”

Death, like everything else on Mars, had been optimized into absurdity.

And somehow, that made it even more human.