[3 days, 2 hours, 41 minutes]

When Logan woke up he was on the roof of the better one of the two hotels his father owned. This is where Logan threw a big party for Freya when she turned twenty. A beautiful patio with a swimming pool and a bar with a fancy young girl in a tuxedo shirt. Janice was her name, if memory served. A sycophant to the bone. Logan never tipped her.

His bleary eyes started to find focus under the sun as he found a pair of sunglasses waiting for him on a trolley bedside. It also had an assortment of fresh fruit, boiled eggs, juice and even an Irish beer Logan had recently acquired a taste for. He figured Freya was to thank for the beverage finding its way to him.

He picked up a piece of ornately cut kiwi fruit and brought it to his parched lips. It tasted almost too sweet. He had sure been gone for longer than an afternoon. Logan took a look at his bearings.

He had an IV going to his arm and some dumb monitoring device was beeping idly behind him. It must have changed frequency, because his father turned from his laptop towards Logan’s bed. Logan ripped the IV off and shut down the machine.

Malcolm Specter didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. You only needed to look at the stupid smug smile on his face and the way he twirled the amber whiskey he was nursing in his hand to know the man had won. Again, as was his wont in life. And what was Logan’s lot?

To be a part of the giant machine his father liked to build. To be an extension, a part, of Malcolm Specter’s reality. There was something in his father’s eyes that Logan had grown to know and hate. There it was again. The man actually thought he had done Logan some great favor. Malcolm Specter had again done nothing but cast a longer shadow to loom over his son.

Logan snarled. His father scoffed.

“Good of you to wake,” Malcolm said and got up.

“How considerate of you to wait by my bedside,” Logan said.

“How is your head?”

“Throbbing.”

“What is seventeen times thirty four point four?” Malcolm Specter asked as he took a sip of whiskey.

“Fuck. you.”

“For once in your life, indulge me.”

Math had been one of those things his father excelled at. So naturally Logan had made a great effort to never learn anything beyond the elementary. He sneered at his father.

“Seventeen times… What three? Or was it—”

Something happened in his mind. It was merely the thought of entertaining the equation. The answer came from somewhere deep from his psyche like a hidden trauma bubbling up. A disjointed whisper. But clearly directed at the half-heartedly asked question.

Mouth half open, brow furrowed, Logan stared at his father blankly. “Five hundred eighty four point eight.”

Logan’s father grinned. Actually grinned. It shocked Logan almost more than his sudden prowess in math.

“Recount the number pi as far as you can remember.”

Logan hated doing what his father wanted, but he was curious. He thought about pi, and it came to him as easily as his father’s name. He recounted thirty two digits of the number before his father held out a hand.

“How do you like it?” Logan’s father asked with mounting excitement.

Logan lifted a finger.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Not yet. You did a fucked up thing.”

“Did I?” Malcolm said a hint colder. “The way I see it, I made you into something magnificent.”

Logan suppressed a significant flare of anger. He reached for the Irish beer to buy time.

“Here’s a thought,” Logan said as he cracked the beer open. “What about just letting me be my own person?”

“What about taking some responsibility?” Malcolm snapped.

“No thanks,” Logan said and took a swig. “It never made you a better person.”

“Never made—” Malcolm Specter controlled himself. He breathed in and out once. Logan smirked.

“Do you know why I’m the richest person on this planet, Logan?”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Because you’re a ruthless son of a bitch?”

A hint of a smile there. This one smug as well. “Because I provide the most value. I am the most valuable human.”

Logan scoffed.

“You can deny it,” Malcolm said. “But that is what the rest of the world tells me when I look at my company stock price.”

“I do deny it,” Logan snapped and tapped at his forehead and let out a bitter laugh. “Most valuable my ass. How many cobalt mining pseudoslaves died for this thing? How many blistered hands of a child worker sleeping on some factory floor touched these circuits, father?”

“Do not be a fool. The world is not a fair place.”

“Because of people like you!”

Malcolm Specter's expression darkened. “You talk of compassion, but none of your charities last for a year.”

“Because you cut the funding,” Logan said.

“After you ignore my advice on how to make them self-sustaining.”

“They’re called charities,” Logan said. “Not businesses.”

“You’re such a child,” Malcolm scoffed. “To think my son couldn’t even float a revenue of one million for a year…”

“I didn’t have the means to—”

“Well now you do!” Malcolm snapped. “Four hundred billion parameters! Specialized in Vector Calculus, Algebra, Trigonometry, and a dozen other branches of mathematics. Thermodynamics, Circuit Theory, Avionics, Data Structure. Need I go on?”

“I feel like you almost got a point across, before you ran out of breath,” Logan said and took a swig.

“I would have given you the goddamn world to hold in your palm. Every advantage conceivable. Connections? I have them. Money? Please. I gave you all this and you still have done nothing with it. This implant is my last ditch effort. We ran out of time. You left me no choice.”

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Logan said, trying to contain a snarl. “You didn’t put a computer in my brain for me. You did it for you.”

“I did it for grander reasons than my own ambitions, or I would have put it on myself,” Malcolm said, quietly this time. “Whatever happens once the timer runs out, you will be ready. Even for a total rebuild of humanity. I made you better.”

“I am,” Logan said slowly, punctuating every trembling word. “Not a project for you to improve on.”

Malcolm Specter said nothing to that, only sneered and sipped on his whiskey.

“What are you two fighting about again?” Freya came out of the elevator wearing a light summer dress, looking as amazing as ever.

“I was just telling him what a great father he is,” Logan said, smiling at his father.

“I need another drink,” Malcolm muttered and went to fix himself another whiskey.

“Thanks for the beer, Frey.” Logan said and saluted.

“That wasn’t me actually. Your dad got it for you.”

Suddenly the taste became a shade more bitter. His father had goons checking his garbage? 71.25% chance of that, rough estimate. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Wait seventy one what?

“Are you feeling okay?” Freya asked as she sat on the bed. She had massive bags under her eyes.

Logan needed a moment to snap out of it. “Yeah… Just a throb at the back of my head. Looks like they kept me asleep for a few days.”

“They did yeah,” She said and gave her a tired smile. “I can finally get some sleep. Wanna fly somewhere tomorrow, like— oh nevermind.”

Logan turned to look where Freya was gazing. He sighed and downed the rest of his beer. A dozen people got out of the glass elevator by the other side of the pool. They wore either a suit or a lab coat, and all but the goons had a clipboard.

Great…

“Gentlemen,” Malcolm Specter greeted the group. “Good of you to come on such short notice.”

Logan knew full well that an unpunctual man was an unemployed man in Mindtech LLC soon enough. These guys had probably slept as much as Freya.

Two of the suited goons were left at the elevator, and the rest of them occupied a corner of the patio. Logan recognized the young agent, standing stiff and all important two yards away.

The tired scientists made a conclave around Logan’s bed. Malcolm Specter made a gesture to let the spectacled man in a lab coat frayed with cat’s sheddings speak.

From the side of the bed the man leaned in closer. He arranged his stethoscope. He even smelled of cats. Oh yeah, this was Dr. Rosenberg, his father’s personal physician.

It took a while for Dr. Rosenberg to get his measurements. Blood pressure, iris with the diameter measuring flashlight, the works. After the good doctor had acquired a few vials of Logan’s blood, he took a few steps back.

The next in line was a woman in her late fifties, lips painted brilliant red, as if to distract people from the fact she was aging. “I would like to ask you about your verbal acumen, if that is alright?”

Logan gave his father a tired look. Logan was still angry. He considered picking another fight.

“Indulge me, just for once,” Malcolm said.

Logan scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. How do you stay angry at that?

Chronically, that’s how.

Logan snapped his fingers. “Hey. Young goon. Balmer was it?”

The young agent turned from his place, looking at Logan, eyebrows visible from behind the sunglasses. His voice was kept even by a heavy dose of discipline. “Yes?”

“That’s ‘yes, young master’ to you, by the way,” Logan said and waved the empty beer bottle in his hand. “Be a good little lamb and bring me another one of these.”

The young agent was indignant. “I didn’t graduate the top of my class to—”

“Balmer,” The gooniest goon said sharply.

Logan grinned. “Sounds like you’re perfectly qualified for this job then.”

Logan was sure agent Balmer was a great shot with a glock, but he repressed a scowl pretty poorly. He would need more practice if he was going to work for Malcolm Specter. The young agent actually even looked at his boss questioningly, but Logan’s dad just waved a hand dismissively. Agent Balmer bowed stiffly and started stomping out of the patio.

“So,” the older woman said impatiently. “Verbal acumen?”

Logan never got to answer. Because at that moment the sky was ripped open. A great black gash appeared mid-air and immediately the wind started howling in a high pitch, as all air as well as the furniture and the people started lifting off the ground.

“W-what?” Malcolm asked, more outraged than scared. All the scientists were definitely scared. They started screaming as they were lifted off their feet.

[3 days, 2 hours, 29 minutes]

[0 days, 0 hours, 1 minutes]

Logan started laughing. “It was a trick. They didn’t want us hunkering down. Oh that’s clever.”

“Logan!” Freya yelled and tried to reach him, but she flew past him, flailing in the air.

“Frey!” Logan called out. “Be brave. We’ll get through this!”

And with that Logan was sucked into the rift in space and all sensation of light, sound or touch was gone.