I don't know if the rumbling of the chassis was from the rickety build of the old RV or the unevenness of the road. Though equipped with a bed and chair, the latter which I sat on, the cushions and mattresses had long since been torn bare, leaving a makeshift wooden plank in their places as seats. The electric motor whirred seamlessly in the background while the oxygen regulator hummed as it filtered out the Mist from the outside with breathable air within.

With all their equipments removed, one of the male soldiers threw a bottle of pills to John from the front seat where his companion acted as driver. Without hesitation, John took off his mask and swallowed a pill from the bottle before passing the drugs on to his sister, who sat beside him on the bed.

Curious, I asked, “What's that?”

“Hexidolamine,” he replied. Amelia remaining quiet as she struggled to get her mask off. “Medication for preventing Mist Poisoning.”

Suddenly hopeful, I excitedly asked, “Like a cure?”

“Donef bif stupif,” Amelia muffled from behind her mask, halfway to removal but with the strap still stuck on her chin.

To his sister, John said, “I told you not to tighten it so much.”

“Sat tup!” she scolded back.

Returning his attention to me, he continued, “It's not a cure. It's...more like an immunity booster for low level exposure. Before any symptoms sets in. But once you've started...” he stared at me with pitied eyes, “There's still no going back. The medication's in limited supplies too, since there's no longer any pharmacies.”

“Oh...” I looked down on my legs and to my metal arm. Inside me, I wondered how much further medical science could have progressed had the war not happened.

“Stop sulking!” Amelia finally managed to pull off her mask, taking in a large breath of fresh air. “You're almost ninety years old. That's a pretty long life for someone with Mist Poisoning.”

Aside from her short, mud brown hair, she had the splitting image of her mother during the latter's graduation. A gaze as sharp as her personality, a face as smooth and calm as the clearest sky. Despite her ferociousness and frustrated furrows, she held the looks of a kind nanny, albeit having a bad day.

“Milly,” John tried to stop her, “That's a little rude, don't you think?”

“Oh you've known me our whole life. Do you really think I care?”

“No,” he sat back dejectedly. “Can't blame me for trying though.”

However, I could not focus on their conversation. Lost in thoughts, I blurted out, “You look just like your mother.”

To which she replied quickly and sharply, “Don't be such a fucking cliché,” immediately breaking my mood of reminiscence.

“But your personality is...”

“Shit?” she answered without hesitation, taking one of the pills after.

“I was gonna say hard, but shit works too, I guess.”

John added, “You two aren't going to get along, are you?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What are you saying?” Amelia replied sarcastically. “Me and Milton here are like best friends right now.”

“You know,” I said with some uncertainty. “You can call me grandfather.”

“How about I call you old man?”

Slightly annoyed, I replied, “I'm thirty years old.”

“No, you're eighty-eight,” she corrected with a smirk. “Old man.”

I sighed in resignation. Not wanting to put up with her childish behaviour, I instead asked John, “Where are we headed?” I looked out towards the front of the vehicle. Beyond the windscreen laid a vast expense of empty, barren landscape, littered with broken tanks and destroyed machines, covered by the thick layer of Mist. However, visible dots of white littered the scene as snow fell from the heavens. “Where could we possibly go?”

“To the Winter Basin. You should know of it. It's the place that the Winter Train pass through on its way to Tikika,” he explained. I remembered the scene of pure white snow-scape, unhindered by Mist. “There's a small rebel camp there. That's where we'll be going.”

“Why?” I asked the simple question. The looks on my grandchildren's faces as they exchanged glances told me everything I needed to know. “It's nothing good, is it? Why did you wake me up?”

Sighing, John state, “We received information that The Forum found where you were. Since we didn't have any resources for the journey, we had to make a deal with some people to get to you.”

Worried now, I asked, “What's the deal?”

To which Amelia said, “You don't have to answer that, brother.”

Leaning over to her, I finally saw the caring sibling relationship between them as he placed a gentle hand on hers without her reacting. “He's going to find out anyway. Besides. This is what mom and dad would do.”

“Why do you always have to do things like mom and dad?” she replied with a slight anger. “You're not mom or dad. You're you.”

Finally agreeing with her, I said, “She's right. You're you,” suddenly, after a long few days, I felt like a father again. Having a chance to take care of people instead of being taken care of. To raise. To teach. “You don't have to tell me. You're not obligated to do anything. Like you said, I'll find out myself anyway.”

“It's not good news,” he added. “You'll probably punch me when you find out.”

“Nah,” I reassured him. “You're family. Said so yourself. If I can't trust family, then who can I trust?”

Amelia nodded blankly to my statement, starring at me with a look that reminded me a lot of Joan when she tried to process something stupid I said. “Not bad old man. You were almost parent-ly for a moment.”

“Grandfather,” I requested again.

“Old man,” she insisted.

John gave a smile as we conversed. Thinking through, he finally said, “The Forum is currently home to cyborgs. Human-machine hybrids. We made a deal with the rebel leaders in order to save you. But you'll have to help them get into Roagnark.”

I looked down on my robotic arm in understanding. “Cyborgs you say? So I'm like a Trojan horse?”

“Yes,” Amelia added, “It may seem kind of meaningless to risk your life now, since your Cryo-Tube is destroyed–” a statement which I had not considered or even passed my thoughts, given everything that had happened. “

To which her brother continued, “But don't worry. The old models are still kept in the old chamber that used to house you. We're going to use the rebels, just as they're using us. We get you in, but before they destroy the city or whatever it is they want to do, we'll hook you up to one of the old models to sit through the next few decades.”

I ran through the entire plot point, contemplating on whether or not to accept it. I was still dying, with less than a week of life left. Not valuable enough, I felt, to risk life and limbs for. Especially for my two grandchildren, who had full lives left to live. Yet, the barren land in front of me was not the optimal world I wanted to leave to them. I was torn between a risk for a better future for them, or safety for a darker one. From my pocket, I retrieved Borris's watch. A man who, for my sake, gave up his remaining time.

“No,” I told them. “No more. No more dying for me. Especially not you two.”

Amelia sharply replied, “Don't be fucking sentimental, old man. Doesn't suit you.”

“What?”

“I grew up thinking you a selfish person,”

“Milly...” her brother tried to stop her again.

But she continued unwaveringly, “All those stories of you, sacrificing your days to give mom and grandma a better future with you. Bullshit.”

Shocked at her directness, I could only ask, “What are you saying?”

“You heard me,” she replied, getting to her feet as her soliloquy reached its crescendo. “You're a selfish asshole. You don't get a say in what we do. You saved your life for your own happiness. I'm right, aren't I?” She was. Every word. I only accepted Matthews' offer all those years ago because I wanted to have a future with my family. “So listen closely, old man. We're not saving you for you this time. We're doing it for ourselves. For the people that we care and will care about. We are going to save you, and you are going to fulfil that prophecy of your grandfather and save the world, so that our grandchildren will have happy endings.”

John could only stare at her solemnly, and I could tell there was much justified suffering and backstory behind her ferocity.

“No more stories of you being some hero in the future. We are the future. And you are going to be a hero. Now.”