“Weller. Mr. Weller. Can you hear me?” the metallic voice crackled in with a harsh clipping effect.

The world faded into view and I began to piece together my surroundings. I seemed to be in a laboratory of sorts. A man sat directly in front of me, waving persistently, apparently testing my sight. Not a man, I quickly realized: A cyborg. Despite his skinlike appearance, I could tell by the unnatural rigidity in his wave.

“I hear you,” I muttered groggily. He continued to wave, so I repeated with more thrust, “I said I hear you! Now if you would stop waving at me like a damn fool and tell me where I am!”

The cyborg cocked its head with uncanny acceleration, squinted at me, and asked, “Mr. Weller, what do you remember last?”

I jogged my memory and an image came to mind with surprising clarity: I was at home, tying my tie, and getting ready to leave.

“Heading out…” I said. “Heading out to… to the ADCL convention!”

Then it clicked. I should be there now! I was, after all, the head of the ADCL — the Anti-Downloaded Consciousness League — and this was our signature event for 2087. “Hey, I gotta go, pal. I can’t be sitting around here talking to no cyborg. How do I get out of here?”

“Not so fast, Mr. Weller,” the cyborg said, raising his hand, signaling a pause. “There’s no need to rush, because… well… you had already attended the event. The first half of it at least.”

What the hell is he talking about?, I puzzled. He stared at me more intently and added, “Until the assassination attempt, that is.”

“Assassination attempt?!” I balked. “On whom?!”

The cyborg’s shoulders deflated, and its gaze turned downward.

“On me?!! What in God’s name is this?! I’m perfectly fine!”

“Fortunately, you have survived,” the cyborg replied flatly.

This is nonsense! Of course, I survived, I thought. Nobody dies anymore. It’s been 50 years since scientists had figured out how to keep the human body alive indefinitely. Hell, I’m going on 128 years and as spry as ever.

Then there are those, I mused, who desecrate natural law and decide to shed their god-given skin altogether… downloading their puny intelligence into a rusty excuse for a human body. The thought made me shudder now, as it does every time. This soulless thing in front of me probably opted for that treatment, I reasoned. Disgusted at the notion, I resolved to get out of here and get back to work.

“I’ve had enough of this! I’ll be going now.”

“Mr. Weller,” the cyborg sighed. “The paramedics weren’t able to save your body…”

He lifted a mirror in my direction, though my reflection never came. Staring back at me was a small black cube with a small camera resting on top. A computer, I realized, that held my full consciousness.

“…but they were able to save your mind. You’ll need to wait for a proper download before you can walk out of here, Mr. Weller.”