If I had to describe the sensation of being cryogenically frozen, I'd say it was like blinking really hard. Like blinking, it happens so fast that you don't consciously sense you're doing it until your eyes had already reopened. The only difference between blinking and getting frozen, aside from the obvious, is that the world around you changes, months and years at a time. That's not exactly a good description, I know. But that's about as close as I can get to the actual experience in brain text. You blink hard, and the world changes.

Once more, I found myself in the dark containment of the Cryo-Tube, with only the hum of the machine to soothe my confused soul. Here's the thing with being unable to feel pain, or any physical contact for that matter. If you close your eyes, you don't know if you're standing or sitting. My eyesight and muscle memories made up my abilities to move about and not hurt myself unintentionally. Not to mention I had a few days to train on living blind before my prosthetic eyes were put in.

The darkness was disorienting and I moved my hand as far right as I thought possible before gently knocking at the steel container. The resulting sound was music to my ears and proved I was still in the confinement of the tube. Echolocation is the ability to discern our physical surrounding and location of objects by sound alone. Though it sounds like a superhuman ability, it's something everyone can do to some level. It's why our brain can decipher if a sound is behind us or in front of us.

A red light flashed on beside me, illuminating the place. Looking down, I was once again slumped against the wall, my dressing soaking wet with the freezing liquid. I balled my hands in a fist and banged slightly harder against the wall, the echoes lasting longer in my ears than I thought it would.

I removed the oxygen mask and yelled, “Hey!” I waited a second for a reply. But when none came, I continued shouting. “What's going on out there?”

A beep resounded from seemingly every corner of the tube and a voice came through that I recognized and somewhat loathed to hear. “Milton? We're experiencing some problems with the hatch. Just wait awhile while we try to crank it open manually.”

“Doctor Parker,” I replied sardonically, unsure if he could hear me or if there was even a microphone in the chamber. “How many years has it been?”

I waited and the seconds seemed to pass in a matter of days. Concluding that there might not have been a microphone after all, I admittedly felt quite silly for basically talking to myself.

Then, “Three years Mr. Jones,” the doctor sounded slightly despaired in his reply. “It's been three years.”

“Ten years total...” I mumbled to myself before returning my attention to the doctor. “Weren't you supposed to be gone by now?”

Another long silence from Parker's end. With really nothing to do until the hatch opened back up, I could only wait for a reply. When it finally came, I was somewhat stunned by the soft and humbled tone in which he spoke with, “I know we got off on the wrong foot Mr. Jones, but three years has been a long time. I'm not proud of what I was and I've changed quite a bit since then.”

“Really?” I replied, wondering if I might have been too harsh with my words before.

“Yes. Really. I've applied to, and have been assigned as your permanent physician. And I know this is over a thousand days late, but I just want to say I'm sorry for how I treated you three years ago,” he apparently awaited my response after that. But I was still unsure how I should act and continued staring at the grated floor. He continued, “You don't have to reply immediately. I just wanted you to know.”

I mumbled, “Right,” unsure if he even heard me.

“Anyway,” the doctor continued. “Could you stretch your body around? Move your joints a little, and check if there's anything wrong? Any weakness or dislocation? The liquid should have kept your muscles from entropy, though your arms might feel slightly weak for the first few minutes.”

Doing as instructed, I stretched my back and arms, and even my legs though there was no need for it as they were prosthetics. It was more of a habit than anything. “Everything seems fine.”

“Good. Good,” I could hear the scribbling of pen on paper as he jotted down what I hoped to be positive tidings on my condition. “We're turning off power to the Cryo-Tube, except for the ventilation to power down the magnetic lock so we can open the hatch manually. The cooling liquid should continue to keep your body temperature stable so you don't have worry about it getting too hot.”

I wanted to remind the doctor that I can't feel heat but held back thinking the thought might have just slipped the man's mind. Instead, I simply replied, “Go ahead.”

“Okay, turning off power in three...two...one,” the red light bleeped off as the machine quietened down.

Only the ventilation from the grate underneath me remained active, the fan spinning softly while pumping fresh air into the chamber. In the sudden darkness, my mind began to clear as I recalled everything that happened the day, no, three years ago. My daughter, practically disowning me being the most pronounced event to have happened and my thoughts lingered on how she was then. Had she forgiven this useless father of hers?

And thoughts of my grandfather lingered, on how his double life had lead me to the predicament of being stuck in a metal container in complete black space. How it had indirectly led me to perhaps lose the most important person in my life. And why me? Why had my father not been chosen? I wondered if Leah knew the answers but something in my gut told me she did not.

The death of my parents continued to loiter around the same area. Not surprisingly though, it was not at the forefront, though there were still pangs of sadness. Though I regretted not having been able to spend their golden years with them, the fact that they had lead a life longer and more fulfilling than most people of their time brought me some consolation. At my grandfather's funeral, my mother told me our family had always coped relatively well with deaths. Even before that, on their deathbeds, my grandfather and grandmother had both assured me that they were going to somewhere safe and loved. I had never understood how they knew, since we were not religious people, but they had said it with such confidence that I've never questioned them. Surely, my parents, especially my mother, felt that way to. And that confidence of theirs to face death had brought me comfort in the battle against it.

With nothing to hinder my senses, neither sight nor pain or sound, my mind was free to wander as I thought back to happier days. Time spent with the whole of my family at barbecues and gatherings. The joy on my mother's face the day I brought Joan home. The joy on her face when we got married. And the first crack of a smile from my father I've ever truly seen when Leila came into our lives.

The hatch above started to creak and a beam of light shone through the cracks that formed. Slowly, it got dragged opened, the rust screeching every so often as it did so. Slowly, my eyes adjusted as the the light outside got brighter and brighter. A familiar figure poked his head over the hatch.

“Hey G,” I greeted. Again, the agent was the first face I saw. “How's it going?”

“Oh you know, fine. The lift's turned off so you'll have to climb out of there.” He reached his hand down the chamber.

Accepting his offer of aid, I grabbed his arm and after a moments struggle with him finding it hard to grip my slippery skin, we managed to get me out of the Cryo-Tube and back on the platform.

“What happened?” I remembered telling Leah that the next choice I get to come out would be decided by my family. With hope, I asked, “Did Leila want me out?”

“Sorry Milton,” G replied, wrinkles and lightening of his hair showed his age. “It's just a malfunction.”

Though disappointed, I tried to keep my hopes up, even though my wife always said I was a pessimist. I thought I'd try it her way for once. “If we keep having these malfunctions, my days are going to number down real fast.”

Needless to say, I was failing at being optimistic.

G replied, “That's what we thought.” He pointed to the corner of the room where a pile of mechanical parts had been stacked aside with a dozen engineers standing by them. “We're overhauling the hardware.”

I nodded at the notion, though in truth, it was details I could care less about. “So, what awesome future stuff do you have for me today?” I looked around the room and saw no other familiar faces. Even that of Doctor Parker having gone and disappeared from the room. I asked, “Where's everyone else?”

“The professor and Joan got called off to Hillbury for an emergency. One of the dome malfunctioned and, well, lots of technical mumbo jumbo.”

“And Leila?”

G took a deep breathe as if preparing me for some harsh news. “She decided to go with them.”

Though the sentence seemed innocuous, it unexpectedly stung at me emotionally. “Right...” was all I could reply.

“Don't worry though,” he tried to comfort as we climbed down the stairs, me with his help. “We're setting up a webcam conference for you guys. She's got something important to tell you.”

He walked with me to the changing room as I left another trail of blue liquid behind. The thought occurred to me as to who was in charge of cleaning that up. “Sounds like you know what it is though,” I deduced.

“I do,” he replied reluctantly. “But I think you should ask her yourself.”

Though the walk to the changing room was less than ten seconds away, my ability to pester others must have gotten better during my unconsciousness for by the time we got to the door, G had already caved.

“Milton,” G said. “She's engaged.”

“Who? Leah?” I genuinely replied.

“No. The professor's married. Joan's the one that got engaged.”

“Oh...” For a few seconds, my mind processed the information as 'The professor married Joan' before splitting the sentence up again. “That is news.”