A dark caption.

Emily stood there and did something the neuroscientist did not think she would do.

She laughed and smiled at him. To say he was not expecting that reaction would be an understatement.

"No." She said with an amused smile on her face as he looked at her, his expression a bit shocked.

"Excuse me?" He said, incredulous at her response to what he had just told her.

"No. You can't do that. Seriously, where is the money my husband has been giving you guys going to? I thought we were funding some cutting-edge research, not some Frankenstein nonsense. Okay, so where?"

She looked at him an folder her arms, her pose not even angry. She wanted to hear what he had to say, now very interested to see what he would say.

"I think you do not realize what is going on here or what your husband was funding here." The old neurosurgeon said. "I told you the truth just now. We really are researching human head transplant surgery. Well, more than researching it, we've actually perfected it one-way, with a donor body, so far always brain-dead, and a patient's head. Two way, between two people, that we've only had about a fifty percent success rating, hence using only brain-dead donors for that. Still, we've done it."

"No, this was supposed to be about longevity research."

"This can be used for that, yes." He said. "Say an old head on a younger body. Your husband is quite convinced of all of this and with good reason."

"God, okay, whatever, you are obviously not going to tell me what this is all about. You're going to keep with the cover, fine, but this, as it's from a joint account, I'm freezing what comes out to you guys."

"Our next injection of funds..."

"Is tomorrow, I know. Too bad, you should have really been honest with me. I mean, even if you are being honest, my mind is made up. No way I'm letting my money going to that mad science, even if I did believe you. So, bye."

She went to leave. The old neuroscientist saw his life's work going down the drain. Their research was at a critical phase. They needed that money. He grabbed syringe, a sedative they had prepped for an experiment that was scheduled later today and walked up behind her...

The old neuroscientist stood there, no longer so old. He estimated he was no more than thirty-five and he had to be much healthier without the aches and stiffness and lack of strength he had been suffering from as he reached his elder years.

She didn't believe him? No way she could deny it now, her head now attached to his old body, sedated and monitored in a recovery room. As for what to do now, all he had to do was wait until the money cleared and they'd be able to finish what they had started. As for her, that he had no real idea on. Maybe he'd show her around, maybe he'd get her a new body, maybe he could convince her not to press charges. He was no killer, after all.

He then heard the telltale sound of a patient alarm, one that indicated that a patient's vitals were flatlining. Fifty percent, he remembered now, and she hadn't won that coin toss.

Well, that solves one problem, and now creates a lot more, he realized. What now?