“So…you really can’t save me?” I asked, sufficiently assuaged of my fear of imminent death. But still pretty pissed off. “–Not in the physical sense, no.” T.K. said with a slight shake of the head.

“What does that mean?”

“Well now,” He said thoughtfully, “that’s a question of philosophy. Or, perhaps, Theology. Either way–allow me a question: what do you believe happens when people die?" he asked, eyes commanding my attention. I blinked.

No words came to mind. In truth, that singular question had consumed me for months. How could it not? I had found myself seeking the answer in religion, spirituality, the bottom of a bottle, or a warmed bed. And had come no closer to an answer now than I was after first informed of my impending mortality. I wished I knew what was waiting beyond that immutable barrier, I truly did.

"I don't know…" I said truthfully, looking towards the wall quickly, feeling a sudden sting in my eye. "I guess nothing."

T.K. sighed, "I find myself coming to the same conclusions, and that saddens me greatly. To live a life, just to simply be cast into the void."

The room was silent for a while... "But I believe, where there is nothing, there may lay opportunity, should you seek it," he said so light-heartedly as to suggest he wasn't implying the impossible.

“How?” I asked, and T.K. sighed again. “Do you believe you–Brandon–are who you are because of your right arm?”

…

"Or your legs?" he continued, "Do your legs make you who you are? Is each finger and every toe a required component of the amalgamation that is you? What about your skin color? That has certainly defined you to some degree. Your curly hair, is it doubtlessly vital to your identity? Or–“ He said, pausing momentarily "–Perhaps, is it your belief that you are yourself that makes you who you are?"

I started to say something, but the gears in my mind had ground to a halt, and I felt suddenly unsure of my answer and of myself. "It's everything," I said finally. "My mind…my body, and my experiences make me–me."

T.K. would not be abated. "So, lose one finger or forget your first kiss, and you're fundamentally altered? Only then, partially yourself? No, I fear humanity is much too resilient to be so frivolously deconstructed. But of course, we speak not of simple amputation and memory loss. But, in your case, of the cessation of bodily functions–"

"My death." I simplified for him, realizing at that moment I had been clenching my fists. "I cannot save your body. But why let your mind– let who you are–fade from existence?"

"So…" I said nervously. Try as I might, I couldn't get a read on the man or his intentions. "like a new body? A robot? Transplant my brain into some doner?" I said, feeling revulsion at the thought.

"Nothing so crude. Think of the process as a transfer of data." T.K. leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, staring unerringly at me–observing. "The human mind, put simply, is but a mass of electrical impulses and organic storage material. It would stand to reason one could copy and transfer the data stored within you and upload it."

“Upload it? Me? Upload where?” Evidently, that had been the right question, the man smiled.

"Inauris" he said simply. "After-life made real, though; honestly, I hesitate to call it heaven." I blinked; he was insane. This man had lost his mind, simple as that. Even if whatever he was saying was true, which I sincerely doubted. But, at best, I'd just end up as some failed experiment. A rotting, fetid recess monkey in a lunatic's–no doubt, already–stuffed closet. At worst, there was truth to his words, and I risked becoming a plaything to toy with and delete at his leisure. Why hadn't I run? I shouldn't have worn loafers…

"Please understand, I did not set out, nor intend, to play god," T.K. said, perhaps sensing my trepidation. "In reality, I have next to zero impact in Inaruis. I can do little more than observe."

"Then why make it?" I demanded. If this, Inauris, were real, it would've been a monumentally herculean effort, not to mention the costs. The eight wonder of the world. What was his reward in it? He nodded at my question, and for the first time, T.K.'s gaze drifted from me as he seemed to look very far away. "If you had the power, the means, and expertise to save someone you loved–truly loved–would you not see to their survival?"

I said nothing, and he continued, “–And if your efforts bore fruit, regardless of whether you achieved your original goal or not, would it not be incumbent upon you to share that mercy with others? Would that not be just?”

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T.K. asked his question. I didn't feel as though he posed it to me, however. He was silent for a long moment after that… before evidently resolving something within himself and continuing, "–That is my offer to you. If you agree, when your body passes, I will upload your mind, and you will live again in Inauris."

…

"No."

I spoke with conviction. I had resolve, too. And I knew well enough to avoid foolishness. Regardless of thoughtful words or placid expressions, I couldn't be sure of his intentions or motivations, and that was enough for me. "Thank you for your offer, but I decline. I'll take my chances. Can you please unlock the door?"

T.K. made no move to do as I requested. There was a look on his face I could not describe, perhaps disappointment? Intrigue? Perhaps simply frustration at my refusal. "My door is never locked, Mr. Alder. And it will remain open to you. Should you change your mind. Up until the end."

I said nothing as I rose and made for the exit. The door handle gave way without any effort this time. Deciding not to think about that, I silently took my leave, not breaking stride as T.K. called out behind me, "There is an expiration date on this offer, Mr. Alder. I cannot raise the dead. Be certain of your choices."

…

I waited outside the warehouse, sitting at one of the picnic tables, watching on my phone the small icon that represented my ride home, drawing closer and closer to my location. Couldn't believe I wore business casual, for that.

I couldn't settle on whether I should call the police on the man or not. But he had made no overt threat to me; what would I even say? "A strange man wanted to upload my dead brain to a computer”? I doubt I'd get halfway through explaining that before being told that pranking emergency services was a crime and not to waste their time before rudely being hung up on.

Whatever–I just wanted to go home. Exhaustion tugged at me, and my stomach ached, had I eaten? I felt a fresh wave of frustration, realizing I'd have to cook something when I got back to the apartment…to an empty apartment…

Not to mention, I had another appointment tomorrow. And maybe grocery shopping, now that I was thinking about it. To what end, though? Maybe I’d recover, and maybe I’d regain my strength, my sense of self. If I just keep pushing forward, there’d be a tomorrow for me–for what? So, I could get a job and go work somewhere? I suppose I could try and go back to the Army…Live a full life, maybe find love? Just to one day lose it.

Maybe anything could happen after I recovered…

But I was going to die...

…

The receptionist's desk remained unoccupied, the two plants still swayed in the breeze, and Thomas Kane sat precisely where I had left him. Seated behind a desk, an open chair before him. I wasn't sure what I was doing, and truthfully, I didn't care. I sat down. I couldn't know if the rope dangling before me was a lifeline––or a noose. Either way, it was something.

"I'll do it." I said, full of doubt and scared and beyond reason, grasping the rope anyway. T.K. smiled, though it didn't appear that he was necessarily happy? Neither did he look victorious, like he had won something. What a strange, inscrutable man, But perhaps it was relief...

…

Six months and thirteen days later, I died.

***

I don't know if it happened in my sleep or if the exhaustion I had felt that afternoon was simply death setting in, and I hadn't recognized it. Those last days had been relatively good ones. My bones didn't seem to hurt as much when I woke. The nausea that I had forgotten what it was like to live without–had all but subsided. I even had an appetite. I don't remember if I had gotten a chance to eat, though I suppose it didn't matter.

I had blinked, and my apartment had vanished. I was surrounded by nothing but an ink-black void that seemed to cling to my skin. It wasn't that I was freely floating in space, more so constricted, held in a suspension. I didn't feel anything, not at first, then, almost imperceptible at first, an odd buzzing in my ear. I went to swat at the sound, only to find my arm unresponsive. It was an odd thing, being dead. Even odder that I knew it, that I was dead. I don’t know how I came to that conclusion; I just knew it. I felt a world away from myself. And then, I blinked.

“Good morning…”

T.K. sat in his chair behind his desk. A desk devoid of clutter or decoration, save for a small statuette standing serenely in the corner. His Eyes were focused on my own. My mouth was impossibly dry, and my tongue felt like a shriveled sponge. Time flowed a tick slower than normal. Again, I blinked, and my body was returned to me. Immediately I sucked in a panicked raspy breath, stretching unbearably tight lungs, my chest burned, and I gagged.

"Where am I?!" I coughed, trying to stand up, but my legs seemed to resist me, and I collapsed back into the chair that seemed to conform to me. T.K. looked around with only his eyes, "Certainly, you recognize my office. It's where we agreed to our arrangement."

…

Right…I thought, "Am I dead?" I asked the man, feeling I already knew the answer. "Do you feel dead?" he asked, tilting his head, "In my experience, the dead tend not to question it." T.K. waited a tick to see if I would respond, and hearing no interjection, he clicked his teeth.

"Yes, Mr. Alder, your body has, indeed, died. I ask again however, do you feel dead?"

I looked down at my hands, touching my fingers together. I wondered whose hands these were or where they had come from. It had never dawned on me, not until that moment, how familiar I was with myself. As I looked down, these two hands looked like my hands. They were my hands. The skin, my skin, warm to the touch; I was warm, I realized.

“This isn’t your office, is it?”

T.K.'s eyes narrowed, though only slightly and ever so briefly. "No. Not really, but this is the only place outside of the hospital room we both recognize, so, in need of a combined space, this is what the A.I. materialized for us.

…

"A.I.?"

"I told you, I'm a programmer, not a god. In truth, the artificial intelligence that governs this place may be a closer approximation. Though it's more akin to–the laws of physics, in my opinion. As it were, there are some things we must first discuss…

My memory felt clouded, "Laws of phy–What place is this?” my head started to hurt, not a migraine but that dull annoyance when you can't seem to recall something you know you should be aware of. Like the memories were there but had been misplaced, reorganized.

"Inauris, As I promised. We have much to discuss."