139 Years to the End of the World

Cyborg People, Part Six

Walls that were once marble white were now stained brown. Isolated from the rest of the world, the chamber that had once held the Cryo-Tube continued to stand strong. But the chamber was now emptied, a far cry away from its scientists and researchers filled hay days. The old lightings had long since burnt out, and the only source of illumination were from the torches the group brought along and a lamp that Clover retrieved from her home. Amazingly, the underground river generators still managed to provide power to the facility, as the ventilators continued to whir and the electronics still functioned. According to the siblings, the last group to have worked with their mother – my daughter – Leila, spent two years delaying the building of The Forum Warehouse on top of the chamber, and reconnected the entrance with sewer lines before The Forum buried the old building.

The second model of the Cryo-Tube, with its sliding glass doors, was left in the centre of the room. Amelia and Clover was busy hooking up both the power cables and themselves. At least, that was what I got from their conversation.

Angrily, Amelia questioned, "So you just up and left us?"

"It's not like I had a choice," Clover replied. "If you hadn't noticed, the only reason I'm alive today is because of these implants."

Amelia clicked her tongue in frustration. Though she understood the reasoning, her pride did not allow her to swallow it. "We could have gotten you help!"

"And where exactly were you going to get that? There are no cities left with proper medical sciences to treat me. So yeah, my grandpa brought me here, sacrificed the rest of his life to save me. I'm not going to apologize for that."

"You could have at least said goodbye!"

"I did!"

"'I love you Milly' and a kiss isn't a goodbye. It's more like 'I think we have a great future together and I want to fuck you' or something."

"Oh grow up! We were thirteen years old. We weren't going to have sex."

"That's what you got out of that?"

"You're the one who started it!"

"Don't make me E.M.P you."

I was glad they were arguing. For the first time in days, I was not the centre of attention. No doctors or worried families to coddle me. No dying wife who wanted a last goodbye. No crazed mass murderer wanting alone time with the Hero of the Mist. I was Milton Jones, human being. Technically, a cyborg-person, but that was fine too.

Watching hacked footages of Jason and his men trapped within the warehouse, John said, "Hard-light holograms. Very clever."

"Yeah," I replied. On the computer screen, we watched as Jason kicked at the fake, hologram projected bomb parts. The Colonel then ordered his two men to try to pry the door opened. "Clover mentioned it, and I thought if it was anything like the stuff I grew up hearing about, we had a good chance at tricking him."

I was still dumbfounded at how my improvised plan had worked. I had thought for sure that at least one of us would have been shot. My mother once told me that grandfather had a knack for impromptu plans as well, and though they always sounded inane when said out loud, they somehow almost always worked themselves out. I wondered how much of the success of my plan was due to sheer dumb luck, and how much was talent from my grandfather's genes.

John noted, "Big leap of faith though. What if he saw through it?"

"I doubt it. Old fart soldier who hates technology? Couldn't turn on a microwave to save his life I bet, let alone tell the difference between hard-light holograms and reality."