In the most famous trailer parks of the United States, a backyard scientist works in his trailer, the tin lining rusted from the years it has stayed in place. The flag of the U.S. stays limp above a window, a most impromptu curtain and a shield from the prying eyes of those who wished to sneak peeks at their neighborhood activities.

The light bulbs that decorate the door to the trailer flicker, either from old age or from the watts of electricity being taken from the lights on the door, but it matters not in the trailer park. The sound of machinery being used echoes through the trailer park, the dogs nearby barking at the ruckus at the early hours of the morning.

A black van sits off to the side of the trailer; no words can be seen despite the lights shining through the area. Hidden in the trees, this spot was away from prying eyes.

Inside the trailer, many cans of the traditional Root Beer can be seen littered across the entire floor, enough to make the floor almost unseen. This can be seen as many sleepless nights of work from a man who was close to a breakthrough on something extraordinary.

A man stands hovering over a desk, the sight of a yellowish white lab coat over his arms, and a loose neck tie of a dark shade of blue hangs straight down. A brown shirt lies underneath that lab coat, and the traditional pants being the blue jeans cover the lower part of his body. A dull glint of metal shows that the man has a belt on.

The sweating face of the man has a scraggly beard, and a furry moustache that looks like a tail of a squirrel lies upon his beard. His piercing blue eyes look down upon a computer, one with many data logs and entries scrambled in a nonsystematic order but at the same time a sensible one.

His breathing is shallow, his eyes glued to the computer screen. Next to the computer lies little micro biotic arms that are gently laying wire and many other pieces of circuitry that are too delicate to handle upon a little green and blue circuit board. A black lining of some metal can be slightly glimpsed at from all angles of the piece of technology.

The man’s name is neatly displayed underneath the circuit board and on his lab coat; John Hiltz.

“Oohh, come on. Come on you crappy excuse of a computer.”

John’s muttering repeats throughout the trailer, the windows blocking the residue sound. But the sound of an engine starting can be heard from outside the walls. Headlights flash across the American flag, and John gives a brief glance towards the window before returning to his work.

“Shit, they aren’t supposed to start now. 5 more minutes, 5 more.”

John begins to quicken the pace of his typing, the mechanical arms speeding up to his movement speed. He stops for a moment to quickly slip on a metal helmet, one similar to those seen on execution chairs. Many wires can be seen connected to the tiny bit of circuitry on the counter, or rather underneath it.

The circuits pulse gently with electricity, as he has the steel helmet powered by the electrical grid nearby. His head feels hot, as the electricity continues to go through his head and into the little chip of circuits on top of a black box.

This is John’s attempt at transmitting neuro-signals to the little chip, to send him into the chip; he likes to say often enough.  He has studied the human brain enough to believe that this might work, but the price is death even if it succeeds. It will fry his brain, much like that of a raisin.

The sound of footsteps walking up to the door of his trailer becomes all too clear to him as he returns and hurries the process. He doesn’t want to fail when he has gone so far into the field of his. The field of technology and the brain; artificial intelligence.

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A banging sound reaches him as he looks to see his door shuddering from some type of impact.  He shudders at the thought of failing his work as the sound becomes increasingly more present, and the sound of typing becomes no more.

John bends backwards and heaves a sigh, now he only has to wait for his death to come, either by bullet or electrocution.

“Haha, this is such a corrupt government. Taking away my prized research…”

John mutters to himself, no longer thinking of what could happen to his technology after his untimely death. He only feels satisfaction for what he has done, as the sound of his door falling makes him shift his eyes towards it.

*Bang**Bang*

Two gunshots ring out, one to the head and one to his heart. He slumps backwards into a chair he was about to sit in, and John gazes silently at the source of the gunshots.

“All clear. Target neutralized.”

The sound of a soldier reaches John’s ears. But he cannot move as the shot to his head missed his brain, and hit his brain stem, shutting off any capabilities to move by himself. Blood trickles down the corner of his mouth as he looks only in one direction as the soldier in black walks up to him.

Two more enter his trailer, the blood from his mouth and chest now pooling at his feet. His thoughts begin to go muddy, and his consciousness becomes hazy. The man in black lifts up his mask, and lowers the lower part to expose an overbearing grin.

“Well well, never expected to see the famous Doctor Hiltz.” The man looks him over, not even bothering to see if the man before him is actually dead. He was certainly confident in his marksmanship as he comes even closer to John.

“Too bad you will never see the fruition of your research. Haha!” The man backs away and laughs straight at the ‘dead’ John. John can only continue to look at the three men, his creation sitting only a few feet away from him.

But John doesn’t like the idea of dying without a fight, but he cannot do much except for spit. His life’s work needs his blood on it; too show his proof of existence. He will not FADE away!

When the man turns around and begins to talk to the other soldiers, John blows a little blood to his microchip, and by the tiniest show of luck, it nicks the edge of it. John smiles at his victory, and a soldier points it out with his voice and eyes.

When the man begins to draw his gun and turn around to face John, John uses the last of his strength to spit a glob of blood onto the man’s face, striking the tip of his nose to the liking of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

His last show of resistance ends John’s life with a bang.To The Future!---------------------

Welcome to the AN! this is teenreader. welcoming you to my new story. Fate's Choice is still going, I was gone from my computer all last week. But I came up with this as well as the story plot for the beginning of FC. So enjoy my latest of ideas.

Duly note this was originally called Planeswalker, but I changed the title to this, because I haven't written anything for Planeswalker in a while. But this is my favorite now, since I have many good ideas for this. If you don't like iron man, then you will learn to like this