Growing up, trains were considered a luxury. With the world disconnected, all the cross continental transportations were cut off from each other, with them only being recently re-established. Even then, most people couldn't afford it. Suitable fuel sources dwindled with each passing day. The fact that we were on one meant either government subsidies or some other methods of heavy funding, which sat uncomfortably with me. The stranger in my cabin did not help make the situation any less out of the ordinary. Or at least, as ordinary as it got with me.

“So, who are you? What are we doing here? Where's the Cryo-Tube?” I bombarded the man in the cabin.

He stopped me with raised hands, “Hold your horses. I'm just part-time here. We should wait for the big shots to come explain this.”

“Big shots?”

From the door, a familiar voice replied, “That would be me.”

I turned and, to none of my surprise, stood a familiar older man in black jeans and a grey shirt, leaning on a cane in his right hand. The sight of him out of his usual work clothes was such a foreign display that it took me a few seconds to fully recognize him.

“Parker,” I greeted the doctor.

The stranger replied sarcastically to Parker, “I was actually talking about my wife.”

“Sure you are. She can't hear you by the way.” He stepped away from the door to make way for the man. “She's at the front cabin. You should go get her.”

“Right.” The man got to his feet, nodding at me in recognition before leaving, closing the cabin door behind him. Parker limped over to take over the now empty seat opposite me, grunting in discomfort as he sat.

I asked, “What happened to your leg?”

“This? Injury and age doesn't mix,” he replied, tapping his right knee. I noticed the slight greying of his once blonde hair and the dryness of his skin.

“But you're a doctor? Can't you just, I don't know, heal it.”

He laughed. Once, a long time ago, I believed that same laughter would have been derisive. Now, with the wisdom of age, it was more of an understanding chuckle with added tolerance. “That's the ironic part isn't it? I'm the man who heals others, but can't even do the same for himself.” He looked out to the cave walls blurring by, as if it was a canvas to paint his memories on. After a moment of contemplation, he sighed and said, “I'm sure you have a lot of question. I'll do the exposition until your daughter gets here.”

It was true that I had questions. Most of them were about our location and situation. However, something more personal stood sore and needed answering. “That man just now, is he...”

“Your son-in-law,” he answered. “Newton Smith.”

“Ah...so uh...what does he do?”

“Really? That's your question?” he asked, raising a brow in curiosity at my lack-thereof. “You just woke up from your sleep in an underground train. Don't you have anything else to ask?” A slight condescension echoed from his tone. Despite his age, the doctor still had a semblance of the same contemptuous pride that had coloured his personality since the first day I met him, albeit just a pick of it was left.

“Of course I do,” I replied, slightly annoyed. “But forgive me if I worry about my daughter every now and then instead.”

“Well, I think the couple should answer those questions instead of me. It is a family thing, after all.”

Resigning with a sigh, I said, “Fine. So, what are we doing here and not at the lab?”

He leaned back in his seat, making himself comfortable. Twirling his cane on its pivot against the floor, he replied, “You've been asleep for five years now. A few years ago, the East and West Forum Administration came under new...administration. A new head reworked the organization. They're just called The Forum now.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with us?”

“Patience, I'm getting there.” For a moment, he sounded almost wise, if not, sagely. “The Forum funds our project. Apparently the new head, Luviet, he has a problem with us. Well, specifically, for some reason, you.”

“Me?” I replied in genuine surprise. “Why me? I don't even know the guy.”

“But he knows you. Everyone does.”

I recalled the whispers of 'hero' and 'saviour' from Leila's graduation, and it occurred to me that it might have been common knowledge that the husband of the woman who protected the world from the Mist had a story of his own.

“I don't know why Luviet did it, but he cut off funding to us. We managed to get one last push for cash and used it to finance a new Cryo-Tube,” Parker explained. I listened intently, but a part of me was still hung on the idea that the government that once commissioned my preservation would want for the same project to end. The doctor continued, “We're moving you to a safe hideout. Where we can keep you alive until the end of the world.”

For the most part, I understood what he was saying. But I could not grasp the reason behind it. “Why are they doing this?

“Like I said, Milton. We don't know,” Parker replied. He stopped twirling his cane, setting it aside and putting his hands together in thought. “The world's been in turmoil for the past few years. There's a likelihood that there'll be a violent uprising against The Forum soon. They're not exactly the most welcomed people right now.”

“They must have a reason,” I told him, trying to absorb years of events and history and make at least an illusion of a coherent picture. “From what you say, it sounds like the people are angry. What are they doing that's pissing them off?”

Parker looked at me earnestly. I had never seen a man stare with such conviction without proposing right after. “You, Milton. They're pissing people off because of what they're doing to you.”

“What?”

“Joan may have managed to halt the spread of Mist, but people still have hope that one day, they would be able to walk under the sun again,” he explained, a glint in his eyes as he recounted the history. “For some reason, you saving us from the end of the world has turned into the idea that you would be able to somehow free us from the Mist. Close the portal that's poisoning our air or something.”

“I-I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't even know what to expect.”

“But your story, your story is giving people hope. A lot of people are willing to help you for that glimmer. A lot more would do anything to hold onto it.”

It was an overwhelming tale. I was a school teacher just a few months ago. And now, I was apparently transformed into some mythical figure. A saviour. “I...I didn't ask for this, Parker. And I don't...I don't want people risking their lives for me in some revolution or whatever.”

“I know.” Parker nodded in understanding. “But I don't think you have a say in it now. The people have made their choice.”

A sense of dark forebode overcame me with those words. Hesitantly, I asked, “What do you mean 'made'?”

“The fighting has already started. Small riots here and there.” He stared back with weary eyes. “People have died, Milton.”

People have died. The inevitability of death was something known all to well to me. Closer than a brother was such, the feeling. But the idea that others would willingly give up their lives in order to preserve mine stabbed at my heart. The worst of it was that it was not even to save my life, but to protect the story of hope that had been built around it. And there was nothing I could apparently do but wait it out.

The news of death however, triggered my memory, and I asked, “Joan?”

He replied solemnly, “She passed away a week after you went under last.” He did not continue, instead choosing to stare at his feet to examine what I could only assume was the much more interesting laces of his shoes.

I swallowed at the news. Though I had expected it and braced for it, I was still left stunned and numbed by the revelation. Blankly, I asked, “And G? Leah?”

Before he could reply, the door to the cabin slid opened. Standing at the doorway was my daughter, holding hands with the man from before, her husband, Newton Smith.

“They're all gone, dad,” she said to me. “It's just me and Parker now.”