The base of every building in Roagnark had been replaced with holographic domes that simulated artificial sunlight. Within them were parks and walkways, complete with water fountains and benches, street lamps and trash cans, even trees and bushes. But even without my sense of touch, I could tell not a single breeze blew through and the air was simply air-conditioned. The leafs of the trees did not sway and water condensed on metal surfaces.

Sitting on the bench at the base of The Forum Technological Warehouse building, I watched as blue-collared workers walked in and out of the 'tower', the metallic front gate awkwardly placed in the middle of the dome, the building extending upwards and disappearing into the fake sky at the ring of the fifth floor.

In front of me, at the top of a spiral fountain was the Cryo-Tube. Mark One. The old tin can with its bulky built and malfunctioning doors, chromed, shined, and waxed. The bulky rice cooker from over a half a century ago. A plague at the edge of the fountain read:

THE BEGINNING OF SCIENCE

Spurred on by the revolutionary feats of

engineering and sciences made during

Project Dawn, this prototype Cryo-Tube,

which kept the Hero of the Mist alive for

the first part of his journey, now serves as a

reminder of all the miraculous inventions

based off it used in our daily lives today.

“Hey mister!” I turned to see a little girl, no taller than my stomach, standing beside me. Wearing a sky-blue, red flowered dress, dainty little white shoes and a slightly oversized sun hat, she was the poster girl of the purity of children. “Mind if I sit here?” She pointed to the empty seat beside mine.

Clover Parker had specifically instructed me not to interact with any 'man or woman' while she searched for the E.M.P bombs' location within the warehouse. So naturally, I told the little girl, “Sure thing!” With a stupid grin across my face.

The girl smiled back, teeth shining in the light. Taking off her hat, she placed the large accessory over her lap as she took the seat. Her hair, a short, smooth auburn that leaned towards red, reminded me of my daughter. I thought of Leila on the day I first got into the Cryo-Tube. Small enough to hug, young enough to be untouched by the troubles of the world. Then I looked down and saw the girl swinging her legs. Her skin-coloured, matte painted, robotic legs.

“Your arms are cool, mister!” she exclaimed. Apparently, she was eyeing my prosthetics as much as I did hers. “It's all shiny and silver, like the Mist Hero!” she spoke of me with the same reverence that kids of my time had for Santa Claus.

Kindly, I asked her, “Where are you parents?”

She pointed back towards the warehouse. “My dad forgot his bag. He's a dunderhead sometimes.”

I laughed. “He sounds like a dunderhead to me.”

Somehow, I had managed to strike up a conversation with the girl, for she replied, “What's your name, mister? I'm Sally!” she gave me her name, beaming with pride.

The girl was overwhelmingly trusting with a stranger like me and I worried for her a little. But something told me that her judge of character and her intellect was far beyond her years. “Sally? My grandmother was named Sally.”

“Really?” she grinned. “Was she also named after the Hero's grandmother?” Somehow, my family background, down to the name of my grandparents, had become common knowledge.

I smiled at her and whispered, “Do you want to know a secret?” She looked at me quizzically, before curiously nodding. “Okay, but you must promise to never tell anyone.” She nodded again. Covering my mouth in faked hushed tones, I said, “I am the Hero of the Mist.”

Her eyes widened in wonder and I could see a glitter of hope in them. “You're lying!” she called on me.

“I would never lie,” I lied. “Lying is bad.”

“If you really are the Hero, then you must have been to the outside!” I nodded affirmatively. She shifted to face me, her hat nearly dropping off her lap in her excitement. “What's it like outside without the Mist?”

“Well...” I reminiscence on the days when the skies were clearer. Though I was not lucky enough to have been born in a time without Mist, my childhood was still filled with clear skies and sunlight. Smiling, I recalled, “Sometimes, the sky was clear and blue, and you can see birds flying across them like a painting on the largest canvas in the world. Other times, there would be these clouds, white and fluffy as any cotton candy. Wind would blow, strong enough to ruffle your hair and lift your spirit. Colours of the world shone, lit with bright red as the sun sets over the mountains,” I took a deep breath as the image of the world of my youth washed over my memories. Before the freezing. Before the war. Before the ravaged wasteland. The beauty that the world had seemingly forgotten.

Sally stared at me, half a smile on her face as she pictured the fantastical world I had just told her. “Wow...” was all she could say.

“Yeah,” was all I replied.

From behind us, a man's voice called, “Sally!”

We turned, and a man in a white jumpsuit, his beard a godly ruffle on his chin, waved to us from the gates of the warehouse.

“That's my dad,” the girl said, turning to me one last time.

I smiled and held up my hand up for a high-five. She slapped it happily. “Remember,” I said. “Secret.”

She gave a toothy grin before hopping off her seat. Rushing to her father, her mechanical legs pushing her at full speed, she leapt into his opened arms for a twirling hug. They exchanged a few words and the man turned to look at me before waving. I waved back, and the father-daughter pair walked off towards the exit.

Clover Parker plopped down in the spot that Sally had left. “I had no idea you were so good with kids,” she noted.

“Yeah...well, I used to be a teacher.” Despite my resignation being less than half a year in my mind, I replied with such a foreign tone that I might as well have been talking about a previous lifetime ago. “Did you find it?” I asked, referring to the E.M.P bomb.

“My grandfather brought me here when I was a kid. I had a terminal illness that would have killed me before I even reached puberty,” once again, she completely ignored my question, and I am reminded of how irritated I was with Doctor Parker's personalty when we first met. But nonetheless, I listened intently. “Once we got here, he begged The Forum to let us in. In return for immunity boosters and cybernetic implants, he promised to spend the last of his life working for them.” She looked around the dome, at all the workers and civilians that bustled through. “A lot of people here are like me. We had some issues with our bodies that couldn't heal otherwise. Diseases, accidents, blindness...”

“Amputations,” I added, thinking back to Sally and her mechanical legs.

Clover continued without even an acknowledgement of me, “The Forum isn't what I would call 'the best'. Their war with non-modified humans are all but kept a secret from us, with only trickles of news here and there from back alley sources and down the grapevines. And I can't say the world would be worst if they were taken down. But an E.M.P bomb in the city...that's not the way.” I realized that she was trying to convince me to not go through with leading Jason to the weapon. It also meant that...

“You found the bomb,” I asked, and she nodded in reply.

I stared at the plague in front of the antique Cryo-Tube, and I wondered if all of our efforts to help the world counted for anything. It seemed that at every turn, with every happy day, there were ten more bad news waiting to run us over.

Clover must have caught my stare. She explained, “We got a lot out of Project Dawn. Cyber-prosthetics, Mist Immunity Boosters...” She tapped the metal plate on her chest, “Life preservers, hard-light holograms, virtual reality simulation, renewable energy, the dome system, and so much more.” She immediately changed the subject. “I hope you have a plan. My granddad always said your family always had some sort of plan up your sleeves.”

I could visualize the cog in my head turning, a puzzle on the verge of falling into place as an idea took root. From my pocket, I pulled out the walkie-talkie that Lindsey had given me. Turning it on, I spoke softly into it, “Lindsey?”

After a moment, a tone crackled in and in an equally quiet voice, Lindsey replied, “Milton? I hear you. What's going on?”

“I'm on my way back.” Now that I had all the information I needed, it was time to get control of the situation. “And there's something I need you to do.”