1 Prologue

The old man was climbing up the stairs to his apartment. Long was he struck by sickness that raising his feet higher while ascending the staircase put a heavy strain on the whole of his physiology. He kept his hand on his heart as his shoulder kissed the wall all the way to the top, thinking of the main tenants of the organization.

We have seen the future, my dear friends. Humans will be no more. We must find a way to mingle our consciousness with modern devices, it is a must.

He slumped on the floor before he could walk any further to his apartment; his clothes were soaked in his sweat which fell like drizzling rain along with his own tears. The old man heaved himself off the floor, observing how his hand shook while he turned the keys, pushing the door afterwards. It was all dark, same as it was outside since the old man took the habit of coming home late. He flung his briefcase on the wall as he hurried to the bathroom, plunging his face into the sink while blood vomit escaped his bowels, spraying some of it on the floor and on the wall. He then sat on the floor, with a cracked mirror facing him on the other side of the wall. He crawled to the mirror, slowly allowing his fingertips to touch the mirror, letting them flow through its cracks. He perceived how pale his face was, how red were his lips and nostrils. He walked out of the room, realizing that the truth he had always been running from was about to strike him.

You are dying, Isaac.

He meandered across the corridor to the other room. As he gently pushed the door, he peeked through the opening at his sleeping son. He seemed to be as innocent as he was in the cradle, back when his mother was still around. His body was mostly covered by a blanket; he curled up in his bed once hearing a roar of thunder. His loose hair spread across the pillow. The old man pulled the door back, closing it as he went to sit on his table.

He stretched his hand to pick up the recorder from his pen holder. He placed it under his chin, desperate and weak. The recorder was still in place, his hand had only taken hold of the wind. He stretched his hand with hope that what was in his mind would not play tricks on him. He neared his dry lips to the recorder, pushing the button.

My dear son, Roger, I fear that this might be the last time you will receive words from me. I don't know what to say since…

He started coughing in an intense manner, spraying drops of blood on the recorder. He gulped before he rested his head on the table close to the recorder.

I don't have much time, I won't waste it in warning you about what may be seen as valueless or simply unimportant. Know that I won't regard you about money or the house or the properties or even your career. Still, my son, it pains me that I am about to sacrifice you in order to save the world. I am to blame for not telling for whom I work, the nature of our work. Those I work for are not honorable, my son, they will seek to use our creation for the sake of ultimate control, not for the sake of preserving consciousness. I know you don't understand what I am telling you right now, but I have great hope that you will. Please, try to understand that there is no one trust but you, and the gift, or the curse if you desire, that you are about to be given will revolutionize the world. I am dying, son, I don't know what to do. All I can do, all that is in my disposal right now is to ask you to forgive me, I won't expect it soon but I will die knowing that you eventually did forgive me.

He rested his wrists on the table after he had placed his pen holder. His late wife sat on the ridge of the table with a feet over the other. Her hair flowed despite the absence of wind in the house.

"Laura, what am I supposed to do? The chip will break every last bit of his mind if he weren't ready, that's if not killing him all at once. We tried to experiment on the old, be it humans or animals, it didn't work on those with old age. His chip requires a less busy mind for it fully function. Still, I don't know if Roger can endure all that amount of data flowing into his mind. He is a gentle soul, perceives everything with his heart," he said.

"If it is impossible to entrust this mightiness with someone else rather than our son, then you'd have to learn to trust him to do the right thing," Laura said, teleporting behind him all of a sudden, surrounding his torso with her nonexistent arms. "Go on, my love, have faith in our son and tell him that you and I will always love him."

Isaac nodded, picking up the recorder. The pain spread across his hands and feet, numbing him from top to bottom. He struggled to say the words as he collapsed on the floor, grunting and groaning. He willowed in his own misery.

Your mother and I will always love you.

The recorder started scratching before all it said were the following, "MEMORY CORRUPTED". He closed his teary eyes with all hopes that his son would save the world from what he would eventually be capable of. About a minute later, the door from the other room across the apartment was opened.

"Dad?"