Dead at ∞

Chapter V

"Oh yeah."

I zoned out, thinking about history. I'm still in my kitchen, with my now soggy cereal. It's a relatively small kitchen, with a black tile floor, and three doors, two of which on the same side, on other ends. In between these doors, there's room for, and an oak table, with aluminium connections. There are four black leather chairs around it, even though only one is taken up most of the time.

Don't get me wrong, I do have friends, I'm not that lonely, but it's not fun seeing everyone you know and love die. I've been through many relationships, romantic and platonic. It doesn't get boring, like you'd think.

My family died long ago. My brother, Kyle, was the last to die, at 93. My mother always thought I'd be the last to go. It's creepy, I know, but she was so adamant, she almost placed bets on her two children's deaths. Little did she know I wouldn't be the last to die. Or the first.

Since I was immortal, I didn't have the need to eat, it just hurt if I didn't. I'd starve, but not to death.

So I still bought food, and I still ate food, it was one of the things that never gets old, with the experiments.

Since I'd lived for so long, I'd learnt many morals; one of which is to save money; it'll help you in the long run. I had saved my money, and had things such as shares, and business moves to keep myself afloat. I'll never try to become famous, or seriously rich, as that could never end well. I just like staying wealthy enough to afford basic human rights, and certain luxuries.

Boom

"Yorkshire Police! Hands on your head and drop to your knees!" A voice bellowed from the doorway.

I, scared shitless at the sudden outburst that seem to have come from nowhere, dived to the cold tile and mortar beneath me.

I obediently followed the instructions given to me and put my hands on my head, as a dark figure disconnected from its group and apprehended me, putting me in handcuffs.

"You do not have to say anything. But if you do, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given in as evidence." The figure said, clad in black armour, likely Kevlar.
"You're being arrested on suspicion of possession of illegal substances, recreational and not, dangerous activity, and prohibited possession of weapons."

The figure, who I'd identified to be a police officer, or more specifically an SCO19 unit, had a rough raspy voice, and a strong grip. He grabbed me by my arms, in such a way that I could not move freely, and brought me to my feet.

In my living room, there were five other SCO19 units, almost identical, with the one leading me being the slightly taller and stockier one. The leader of the pack.

They had guns, MP5 carbines, and 9mm Glock 17s in their holsters. Each of them had their identical uniforms, although they respectively had their individual code names and tags written on paper packing tape strips on their also black, almost bicycle helmets. They each had a pair of goggles, which didn't look like a very suitable setup, but would no doubt be specially made, and optimised for certain conditions.

They had black chest plates, with horizontal ridges covering them. All of them had a patch in the middle, saying 'SFC,' and immediately under, in smaller text the full initialisation: 'Special Firearms Command.'

On their upper right, where the shoulder blade would be, they had another patch, which simply had their respective silver badge, with the medieval style helmet in the middle.

Their trousers, which again were black, and not as colourfully decorated, had pockets, tags, buckles, trinkets, holsters, buttons, clips, and all sorts attached. They almost looked like casual work trousers, the kind you'd find on a mechanic, although, like the helmet and goggles, would presumably be built of high grade technology.