Everything was black.A darkness so dense it seemed to swallow even his thoughts.
Suddenly, an orange flash lit up the void, followed by sparks of color that slowly began to take shape. Joseph saw himself as a child, kneeling, prostrate before a radiant, gigantic being—so immense he couldn't see it clearly, only the shape of its legs, like columns of light. The being sat upon a golden throne embedded with purple crystals that pulsed like beating hearts.
There, in that nothingness, Joseph lay crying at the feet of the being, endlessly, breathless.
—You, tiny and dreadful creature, have no right to stand before me. You, unconscious and unfeeling being, have no right to weep for me. You, insufferable and frail thing, lack the will to follow me —the imposing entity roared, its voice crashing like thunder.
—You, small and fragile being, have no right to rise before me —the voice thundered again, shaking the very foundations of the darkness—. You, who ignore pain, have no right to mourn me. You, broken will, are not worthy of me.
—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—were the only words the boy managed to sob, his forehead pressed against the invisible ground.
A few meters away, a yellowish glow revealed a multitude of silhouettes, whispering among themselves in almost unintelligible murmurs.
Though Joseph lay prostrate before the giant, he could see and feel them. He felt their words, their stares, their hearts and emotions; they were like millions of invisible needles piercing his head, entering through his temples and sliding down to his throat.
—You, unworthy one, have no right to stand at my side. You, child, have failed us.
The being raised its massive foot and slowly lowered it onto Joseph. It was not a swift blow; it was an inevitable, crushing pressure. Joseph felt the weight grinding his young back against nothingness. His eyes wouldn't stop leaking, his lips wouldn't stop begging for forgiveness.
—He who renounces his will does not deserve to walk the earth.
Suddenly, one of the silhouettes spoke. Its voice echoed through the void, clear—like a vibration rattling his bones:
—Jos! Jos! Jos!
Then another voice followed. Female. Warm. Laden with infinite guilt:
—Forgive me, Joseph… I'm sorry. Please forgive me, I hope you can forgive me, I—
The voice cut off and repeated, louder each time, until the darkness shattered into a thousand fragments of light.
Joseph opened his eyes.
A white glare blinded him. Above him, lights rushed past, projected from a gray ceiling. He was on a gurney, being pushed in haste. Distant voices surrounded him, urgent and sharp:
—Keep pressure!—We have a pulse, but it's weak!—Hurry, get ready, there's no time!
He tried to speak, but only a thin thread of air escaped his lips. He felt no pain—only a strange emptiness spreading through his entire body. And yet, that sweet, guilty voice kept echoing inside his head, louder than the chaos in the room.
The trauma lamp burned his retinas like a blazing beacon.
What happened? he wondered.
The answer came instantly. Like a lightning strike, the image of the cliff flashed in his mind: the grip slipping, the howl of the wind, and the void swallowing him whole. A void he hadn't feared.
He tried to move a finger. Then his right foot. Finally, his arm.
Nothing responded.
Guess they're broken, he thought with an unnatural calm, staring at the doctors' masks above him.
The memory of that call returned. The dismissal. The failure. He closed his eyes for a second.
Does it even matter? he thought. This is the end.
In his mind, memories of the project formed and sped past like an old film reel. Time and money appeared as red numbers, like an overwhelming debt. Moments of joy and progress faded into dull gray.
No… I didn't make it, Mom.
He felt something warm slide along his temple—a single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek to die in the blood-stained sheets.
He tilted his head slightly, the only movement his body allowed. Through the glass wall of the room, he saw two figures. His grandfather Georg, seated on a bench, eyes closed, face turned upward. And Anton, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
Joseph's heart leapt.
Anton is here.
Something shook inside him. His breathing quickened, air rushing in short, trembling bursts. The heart monitor began to beep frantically.
—He's spiking! —a doctor shouted.—Sedate him now!
One of them nodded and prepared the injection. Joseph felt the pressure in his arm, and the world began to fade once more. A thick curtain fell over his eyes, erasing his brother from view.
The ticking of the clock was the only sound breaking the silence in the waiting room.
Anton's right foot tapped endlessly, a rhythmic pounding that made the floor vibrate beneath his boots. His gaze was fixed on the polished floor, but his mind was elsewhere. Beside him, Georg, his grandfather, held his head with both hands, covering his eyes.
—I don't understand… —Anton murmured hoarsely—. Joseph has climbed that cliff dozens of times. It's impossible for him to have failed like that.
Georg exhaled slowly.
—I don't understand it either, son. I was talking to him… right before the accident. —His voice trembled—. He seemed nervous. We talked about his evaluation… then he said the company was calling him. Fifteen minutes later, I got the emergency notification.
Anton nodded in silence. His foot kept marking the rhythm of his anxiety.
The door burst open.
—Anton… Georg.
It was Jacob Hunt. He was still wearing his white coat. His expression was grave, though he tried to force a reassuring smile. He stepped forward and hugged Georg, then Anton.
—I came as soon as I heard.
—Thank you for coming, Jacob —Georg said.
—How is he? Have they stabilized him?
—We don't know —Georg replied—. They asked us to leave the room because Anton was… restless.
Hunt ran a hand through his hair.
—God… I hope everything turns out okay. What happened? Was it his condition?
Anton shook his head.
—I don't know. When I left him, he was shaken and nervous about his evaluation, but aside from that, nothing seemed wrong. He shouldn't have fallen.
The door opened once more. A surgeon in blue scrubs, his face tired, stood in the doorway.
—Family of Joseph Marsol?
The three of them stood almost in unison.
—Yes. That's us.
The doctor consulted a transparent tablet.
—Your relative is stable, for now. We transferred him to the operating room for initial reconstructive procedures. —He paused, choosing his words carefully—. I need to confirm some information. Our records show he has HSAN type V. Is that correct?
—Yes —Anton replied, staring at the doctor—. Hereditary sensory and autonomic neuropathy. He doesn't feel physical pain.
The doctor nodded, processing the severity.
—That explains the lack of initial traumatic shock. Although he can feel touch and temperature… I see. —He made a note—. Still, I must warn you: his condition is critical.
Georg gripped the back of the chair.
—Please… tell us.
—He suffered multiple fractures. The bones in his legs, arms, and spine are shattered—crushed in some areas. He has lost nearly all functional mobility. It was a miracle he survived that fall.
Hunt closed his eyes and murmured something that sounded like a prayer.
—Additionally —the doctor continued—, his jaw is broken. He won't be able to speak. And his brain sustained moderate damage; there may be memory loss.
Anton ran a hand over his face, pale.
—What options do we have?
—Two —the doctor said, holding up two fingers—. First: traditional reconstructive surgery. We stabilize the spinal cord and fix the fractures. He'll survive… but he'll be quadriplegic. He will never walk again, nor use his hands, nor speak.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
—And the second? —Anton asked, already fearing the answer.
—Advanced intervention. Full cybernetic implants. Biomechanical replacements for limbs, spine, and jaw. With that, he could regain full mobility.
Georg lifted his head.
—As expected… —he whispered.
—But the process is long and extremely aggressive —the doctor warned—. He could die. It will take a year. Multiple surgeries, and neurological rejection is a real risk.
The silence stretched on. Only the ticking clock filled the room.
Anton clenched his fists.
—I understand.
—With all due respect, sir… it was a miracle he survived.
Georg lowered his gaze.
—Jesus… —he whispered.
—And the cost… —Hunt began, struggling to keep his voice steady.
—Money won't be a problem —Anton interrupted coldly.
—If you have the resources, we can begin the pre-surgical evaluation process. You have one month to decide which procedure will be performed. During that time, we'll keep him in a controlled state and under observation.
The doctor gave a small bow.
—You may see him in three hours.
He left, leaving behind an icy silence.
Georg took a deep breath.
—A new body… but at what cost? —he murmured, watching the door close.
—Georg, Anton… I have to return to my shift —Hunt said, visibly shaken—. I'll come back as soon as I can.
—Don't worry, son. Thank you for staying with us —the grandfather replied.
Anton only nodded in farewell, his gaze once again lost on the floor.
Hunt left the room.
When they were alone, Georg patted his grandson's back.
—I know everything will turn out fine, son.
—I don't want to see Joseph like that, Grandpa. Full of metal. Or going through all those surgeries. He hates implants.
—I know, son. But there are no other options.
—I don't know… —Anton glanced at his watch. It read seven thirty. His hand instinctively touched his inmo.
—I want to see him walking, Anton. At least once more —Georg continued, his voice breaking.
Anton didn't answer. For the first time, his foot stopped tapping. The blue glow of his inmo flickered at his temple, reflecting in his eyes—the weight of an idea taking shape.