Human Year: 2030

Allow me to ask you a question:

What is the reason of living?

If death is always the result,

Then, do we live to die?

If you know one day,

you will draw your last breath,

then what is the point

of all your hopes and efforts,

For a game where you'll lose everything in the end.

I have found a solution to this.

As long as my consciousness remains,

my brain is still functioning,

I am Alive.

I am Immortal.

I sacrificed my body,

A flawed, weak, and meaningless host.

I can live forever.

To appreciate the harvest of my life,

To see the end of the world.

"You are watching another edition of the 22nd Century Times," said the reporter. "Tonight, I am here with our most esteemed guest, founder of Earth Robotics Company, Dr Y."

A young man, no more than thirty, strided into the studio. His hair was as dark as ink, skin as pale as a corpse. He scanned the studio with his shiny dark brown eyes.

"Please take a seat, Doctor," the reporter respectfully addressed the young man. “Shall we start with our first question?

"Sure."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Okay," the reporter scanned through his notes, "So, Dr Y, we really want to know how you started out. You are the founder of probably the most influential company in history, providing products ranging from everyday necessities to high tech designs such as the Halo Project. Your company is also the weapons supplier for every single country on this planet. What inspired you to create the ERC, or Earth Robotics Company?

Dr Y waited a few seconds before delivering his answer. If he replied too fast, he would’ve came off as too arrogant. Reply too slow and he could be viewed as unprepared. "That's definitely one of the more interesting questions I've being asked so far. The plan to create such a flourishing industry can be traced back to my childhood. I always wanted to be the…” Dr Y thought for a second. “the... supplier of the world’s technology. I quite liked the idea of people spending their income on my ideas, my products, and my inventions, claiming that they are worth the price."

The reporter smiled, "That's very kind of you, serving humanity with your intelligence. Back in the old days, the markets were controlled by only a few tech giants. The Earth Robotics Company has replaced them with cheaper and better quality goods for the people."

"That's right," There was a hint of pride on Dr Y’s usually emotionless face. "I was a child when those bastards dominated the world. I remembered the sweatshops, the child labour, and especially the insane prices for new phone models increased in size by just a few millimeters. But now that I have revolutionised our economy, it is perfectly balanced, as all things should be.”

"Allow me to say this, Dr Y," laughed the reporter, "you seem to be a very ambitious person, even in your childhood."

Dr Y stared into the distance. "Yes. I was always the odd one out for sure.”

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“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Standing beside Y was a young, attractive woman with silky black hair. “You have a high chance of dying from this, I don’t even know what to call this. A surgery?”

“My rebirth,” Y took off his leather gloves and poured some carbonated drinks into a metal cup, “This is the only way to cheat death.”

“Yes, I know,” said Y’s chief adviser, Vivian, a leading bioengineer. “But you have so many things to lose.”

“The hardest choices require the strongest wills.”

Vivian frowned. She thought she had heard that line somewhere before. “Y, quoting from movies is not going to change this important decision you have to make.”

Y ignored his assistant and dropped an ice cube into his drink. “Prepare transplant in 5 hours.”

“Y?”

“Yes, Vivian?” Y drank slowly from the cup. This was his last chance to taste coke.

“Are you human at all?” Vivian’s voice quivered.

Y looked at Vivian, and let out a sigh. “Vivian, just remember me as a living, intelligent creature.”

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“You don’t have to do this, Y.” Vivian’s voice entered Y’s ear via a microphone, he could see her sobbing outside the surgery room, makeup blurry.

Y turned away, his stone cold face giving away nothing.

“Antiseptic, complete,” came an automated voice. The robotic arms surrounding Y whirred to life. One of them with a syringe-like tip shifted towards Y, who was firmly attached to the surgery platform.

“Ready to inject analgesic.”

“Ready,” Y replied. For a horrible second, his body shook as the long needle punctured his skin. Then Y relaxed as a yellow liquid slowly flowed into his arm, oblivious to the woman weeping quietly through the mirror.

This would be the last moment in his former body. Y tried to remember every experience, any experience. The taste of home-cooked pizza, the smell of dandelion flowers, the feel of his mother’s warmth... Suddenly, he forgot something.

What was the taste of coke again?

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