Walls that were once marble white were now stained brown. Isolated from the rest of the world, the chamber that had once held the Cryo-Tube continued to stand strong. But the chamber was now emptied, a far cry away from its scientists and researchers filled hay days. The old lightings had long since burnt out, and the only source of illumination were from the torches the group brought along and a lamp that Clover retrieved from her home. Amazingly, the underground river generators still managed to provide power to the facility, as the ventilators continued to whir and the electronics still functioned. According to the siblings, the last group to have worked with their mother – my daughter – Leila, spent two years delaying the building of The Forum Warehouse on top of the chamber, and reconnected the entrance with sewer lines before The Forum buried the old building.

The second model of the Cryo-Tube, with its sliding glass doors, was left in the centre of the room. Amelia and Clover was busy hooking up both the power cables and themselves. At least, that was what I got from their conversation.

Angrily, Amelia questioned, “So you just up and left us?”

“It's not like I had a choice,” Clover replied. “If you hadn't noticed, the only reason I'm alive today is because of these implants.”

Amelia clicked her tongue in frustration. Though she understood the reasoning, her pride did not allow her to swallow it. “We could have gotten you help!”

“And where exactly were you going to get that? There are no cities left with proper medical sciences to treat me. So yeah, my grandpa brought me here, sacrificed the rest of his life to save me. I'm not going to apologize for that.”

“You could have at least said goodbye!”

“I did!”

“'I love you Milly' and a kiss isn't a goodbye. It's more like 'I think we have a great future together and I want to fuck you' or something.”

“Oh grow up! We were thirteen years old. We weren't going to have sex.”

“That's what you got out of that?”

“You're the one who started it!”

“Don't make me E.M.P you.”

I was glad they were arguing. For the first time in days, I was not the centre of attention. No doctors or worried families to coddle me. No dying wife who wanted a last goodbye. No crazed mass murderer wanting alone time with the Hero of the Mist. I was Milton Jones, human being. Technically, a cyborg-person, but that was fine too.

Watching hacked footages of Jason and his men trapped within the warehouse, John said, “Hard-light holograms. Very clever.”

“Yeah,” I replied. On the computer screen, we watched as Jason kicked at the fake, hologram projected bomb parts. The Colonel then ordered his two men to try to pry the door opened. “Clover mentioned it, and I thought if it was anything like the stuff I grew up hearing about, we had a good chance at tricking him.”

I was still dumbfounded at how my improvised plan had worked. I had thought for sure that at least one of us would have been shot. My mother once told me that grandfather had a knack for impromptu plans as well, and though they always sounded inane when said out loud, they somehow almost always worked themselves out. I wondered how much of the success of my plan was due to sheer dumb luck, and how much was talent from my grandfather's genes.

John noted, “Big leap of faith though. What if he saw through it?”

“I doubt it. Old fart soldier who hates technology? Couldn't turn on a microwave to save his life I bet, let alone tell the difference between hard-light holograms and reality.”

“You think he would get out?”

“Unlikely. The guards will figure out something is wrong soon.” I wanted to end by saying that he would likely be killed, just as the robots that attacked us yesterday did to Borris. But I did not want to end that conversation on such a grim note.

“You know, Milton,” John said with a smile. “For a moment there, me and Milly really thought you were going to kill the city just to save us. I'm glad that we were wrong.” Despite that, the thought had crossed my mind, should my original plan had failed.

From the opposite station, Lindsey piped out, “Hey! Stop being wishy-washy and get back to work you two!”

Nodding like a kid who had just got told off by his parents, John replied, “Right. Sorry boss.” He turned to me with a grin that I'd like to describe as 'stupid'. “She's so cute when she's angry.”

“Did something happen to you two?” I asked, quizzical.

“Well, after you left, I took your advice and asked her out. You know, if we survive that is. And she said yes!”

If we survive. I've heard that line before in old movies and television shows, but it somehow managed to sound even cornier in real life than it did in fiction. Nonetheless, I congratulated him on his small victory in life.

“Thanks,” John replied, turning off the video feed and continued working on rebooting the old Cryo-Tube. “You were right though. Good things in life are hard to find and pass us by too quickly. We should take a hold of it while we can.”

I turned back to Amelia and Clover, who had gone to working in silence. Intrigued by their relationship, I dug into it from John. “What's up with those two?”

“They used to date. About what? Ten years ago now?” the brother replied. “Then one day the Parkers just up and disappeared. Without a trace. Gone like a ghost. Poof into oblivion. Swung behind-”

“I get it,” I stopped him before his metaphors went too far. “They were gone.”

“Well, now we know what happened,” John sighed deeply, scratching his chin as an error window popped up on the screen. “Milly's been pretty pissed about the whole thing for years though. They were really into each other, after all.”

Sarcastically, I replied, “Yeah, loads of chemistry there.”

“There is!” he insisted. “You know how Clover does that thing where she talks as if you're not there? If you ask her questions she'll just continue talking over you?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“The only people she never did that to were her grandfather and Milly.”

“I-” I started to rebut, but quickly realized that he was right. “Huh. That's just fascinating. Do you think I should go talk to her? Give her some grandfatherly advice?”

“Don't you mean 'old man' advice?”

“Hey! Don't you start that too.”

“Why are you so insistent on being called grandfather? You know grandfathers are still old men, right?”

Enthusiastically, I started, “Okay, work with me on this. See, if someone gets pregnant at sixteen, and their child gets pregnant at sixteen as well, then that technically makes them grandparents at thirty-two years old. And I'm totally cool with that age.” I was sure I was grinning like an idiot, for John was chuckling. “But if you call me an old man, then I'm just old, you know? Like fifty plus or something.”

Through laughs, he replied, “I never took you as someone who cares about age.”

Slightly more sombre than I had intended, I replied, “John, I'm a time travelling, terminally ill man who is going to outlive three generations of his family. Age is all I have left to care about.”

“That's not true,” he replied with a smile. “You have us to care about. For now at least.”

Softly, I muttered, “Thanks.”

“And for the record...” I looked up to him and saw the fleeting kind face of my daughter in him. “I think you make a pretty good grandfather.”

A loud clunk came from the Cryo-Tube, and I turned, expecting Amelia to have taken a wrench to the machine in frustration. Instead, the machine started to hum gently as the internal lights lid up.

“Woohoo!” Amelia shouted in triumph.

It was a strangely nostalgic sight. Despite having just been in the contraption a few days before, the box-shaped Cryo-Tube felt like a distant relative. For some reason, I yawned, as if the machine was beckoning me to sleep.

“Alright.” Lindsey walked up to us. “Time to get you back to bed.”

I looked to the group and suddenly, I was at a lost for words. I had one day left to live, and I was about to step into the last goodnight. I do not know if it was due to the events of the past day having hardened my nerves, but I felt no fear nor hesitation. No regrets of what-ifs and never-weres. I was ready to face the end of the world. I was ready to die.