The future is terrifying for any person, let alone an everyday school teacher like myself. When faced with just the talk of the future, most people recoil in uncertainty. Yet, when presented with the physical manifestation of it, we're given either wonder or fear. Or sometimes, both.

As the platform rose from from the Cryo-Tube, I got to my feet, unbuttoning the custom pyjamas made for me, freeing my hands and feet from their woolly prison. When the view of my surroundings came to light, I was awestruck by the sight of them. Not by the differences, but lack-thereof. The walls were still pearl white, and every machine and consoles were exactly where they were when I last saw them. Nothing had changed. There's no way I was seven years in the future, Impossible! my mind screamed. And yet, my gut knew it was the truth. The tone of the colour of the floor, the small scratch marks on the shells of the machines, every minute detail jumped at me. It was dizzying.

The platform screeched from its old parts – unmoved for three quarters a decade – as it came to a bumpy halt.

G stood beside me, scanning the entirety of my face, ignoring the fact that my body was soaked to the bones with the blue liquid used to freeze me. I looked to him quizzically, asking, “What's wrong?”

He cracked a smile, “You haven't age a day.”

“Why do you sound more surprise than I am?” I asked. “You guys are in charge of this project right?”

“Heh, you're right about that.”

I took a step forward, only to have G reach out and grab my arm as my legs buckled.

“Take it slow,” he said, also removing the paste-on ECG from my chest in the process. “Your body's seven years ahead of your mind.”

“Right,” I replied, suddenly feeling the daze. With G's help, I descended the ladder, followed by the agent himself. I glanced around the chamber, scanning through the men and women in lab coats working at their respective consoles, not even once looking me in the eye. “Where's Professor Leah?” I asked.

“The freezing canister malfunctioned so we had to pull you out on short noticed,” G replied, “She's at home and just got notified.”

Up till that moment, I had assumed the agents and the professor had just lived at the E.F.A Headquarters. I have no idea why I thought that. I guessed the trio just had that air of professionalism and work centric personality about them. It didn't even occur to me the possibility that they had lives outside of work. Then the question hit me.

G passed me a walking stick, which I waved away, and paced himself beside, directing me to the changing room with his steps. I followed, leaving a trail of blue behind. I casually asked, “What about Agent Matthews? Home with the wife and kids?”

As soon as the question left my mouth, I could tell something was wrong. G slowed his pace and stared down at his feet. “He uh...passed away last year,” he choked out.

“What?” the news hit me harder than it should. “I just saw him ten minutes ago.”

“Yup,” G replied grimly. “It would seem that way to you.”

That was the first mistake I made in my short, fifteen days journey. One of many I admit. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, but foresight we have none. From where I stand now, what I had said was not only selfish, but stupid. In turn, my solution seemed equally retarded in answer.

“Sorry about your loss.”

The agent took a deep breath through his nose and changed the subject. “We've notified your wife that we're bringing you out. She's got something planned for you. I'll bring you to her location. Professor Hullway will be there as well.”

“Okay,” I replied, nodding blankly as he opened the door to one of the rooms.

“I'll meet you at the entrance once you're ready.” He handed me a plastic card attached to a blue lanyard. The card had my face, from what I recalled as a photo I took eight years ago. “I hope you remember where that is?”

After digging deep into my senses, I replied, hopefully, with wit, “Like it was just yesterday.”

G bid himself off with a soft nod of the head. I turned away from the agent, entering through the opened doorway into what seemed to be a medical bay of sorts. Though I had mostly dripped myself dry of a significant amount of the freezing liquid, blotches or water still formed when I walked into the room. The place was small, barely 4x4 in meters. There was a white gurney to one side, cornered by an ECG machine and a counter top filled with medical equipments, sided by a single chair. From a stethoscope to swaps, to syringes, to pills and bottles, even a set of surgical tools on a tray, the table seemed fully stocked for a small emergency.

From behind, the gruff voice of a man said, “If you would take a seat on the bed Mr. Jones.”

I turned just as a man with a blonde crew cut, dressed in one of the many lab coats, cuts by me through the door, a clipboard in hand. He pulled out the chair and sat down. When he realized I had continued to stand in front of the already closing door, dumbfounded without moving, he lowered his clipboard and pointed to the white gurney, gesturing me to sit.

But that is so white! What if I dirty it? I wanted to ask. Stupid question, I know. And I know there were more pressing queries. But my mind's not known for being serious. Pushing back the urge to be a complete ass, I dragged my drenched self over to the bed and sat awkwardly at the edge of the mattress.

Once I was settled, the man introduced himself in as monotonous a voice as I've ever heard in my life. “I'm Doctor Parker, I'm just going to check to see if you're showing any negative feedback from the freezing process.” The man had a young face, free of blemishes, and deep hazel eyes. There was no doubt in my mind he was just in his early twenties.

“Uh...okay,” I replied casually, staring around the room to take in more details, including the eye chart I now saw behind the door. Not that it helped me understand the surrounding much. It was as boring as any clinic. There was even a poster on the empty wall that had a cat hanging on a branch with the bolded words, 'Hang in there!' underneath. “Ask away.”

“Do you feel cold?” the doctor asked in his blank tone.

I replied, “I uh...don't feel anything,” I of course, was talking about my fucked up nerves damaged by Mist Poisoning.

He looked up at me with that annoyed look that teenage girls gave. You know, the one where they roll their eyes as if they're talking to a retard? The doctor just gave me one and said, “I meant, do you feel like your body is shivering?”

Admittedly, I was kind of pissed at his tone of voice, but I kept it together and replied, “No. Why is that by the way? I don't seem cold at all.”

Again, Doctor Parker lowered his clipboard. But this time, he openly gave me the face that read, Are you retarded? Before answering, “We lowered your body temperature back to normal before bringing you out,” and added the cocked eyebrow that said, dipshit.

“Oh,” was what I replied, though I had half a mind to punch him now.

He continued with his next question. “Do you feel any discomfort?”

“Like?” I asked.

This time, he sighed audibly. “Like any migraines or feeling of nausea?”

“No,” I replied. However, I added on before he could continue, “And could you not be such an asshole?”

“What are you talking about?” he replied, a visible look of anger on his face as he scrunched his brows at the accusation.

“Like your tone and that eye rolling,” I flailed my hands exaggeratively. “Was that really necessary?”

He took a deep breath and, finally, the sound of emotions entered his voice. Though what his anger sounded like was not really that much of an improvement to apathy. “Listen Mr. Jones, this is my job. I've worked here for the past two years, looking at your vitals twenty-four-seven. I'm not Professor Leah. I don't have any emotional attachment to this work. For me, and most of the others, this is just another job that we will do for a few years before getting moved to some other field.”

He had not really answered my question though, so I pushed on, “Your point?”

Parker let out an angry grunt. “My point? I don't care who the fuck or how special you think you are. To me, you're not special. You're just a job. You don't get to act all high and mighty just because you're the 'subject' okay? After what? Five years? I'm moving on again. You're a passing phase. So sit down and answer the fucking question you pampered twit, and you can go off and enjoy all the money the government's giving you.”

I got up to my feet, now furious myself. “You think I'm doing this for the money?”

“Yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “Why else would you volunteer to become a guinea pig like this?”

I had never been as angry at anything in my life up till that point. I raised my voice, which I was sure boomed even outside the sealed room. “How about for my family? How about to be there for my daughter in the future instead of leaving her fatherless? Huh? Have you ever thought of that?”

Parker backed into the corner in shock and fear, staring at me wide-eyed as if he had seen a demon and was about to be eaten. I'll admit, I was kind of hungry.

Despite his visible terror, I continued anyway. “Or maybe,” I lowered my tone. “Just maybe, and hear me out on this crazy theory here. I just don't want to fucking die!”

My breathing was heavy, and I was sure my mechanical eyes looked just as crazed as psychopathic biological ones.

I took a deep breath as I ended the conversation with the speechless doctor. “I'm feeling much better now Doc. Thanks.”

Without looking back, I exited the medical bay.