Chapter 3, Day 1

“Cyborg! Can you make it down for breakfast?” Mrs. Baselmonk shouted.

He perked up, “Yeah, sure!! …What did you make?”

“Dippy eggs with toast!” she replied, her voice echoing slightly.

“On my way!” he called out, enthusiasm evident in his tone.

As Cyborg made his way down the wooden staircase that morning, he was initially unaware of the change in his physical state. It was only as he descended step by step that he noticed the surprising absence of acute pain. The kitchen below was alive with comforting and familiar scents; the aroma of dippy eggs cooking and bread crisply toasting filled the air, blending harmoniously with the soft hum of a catchy tune playing on the kitchen radio.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he absentmindedly started to peel off his bandages, one after another. To his astonishment, the wounds beneath looked like they had been healing for a week, not merely since last night. The sight halted him in his tracks, a mix of curiosity and disbelief slowing his movements.

Lost in his examination, he didn’t realize how much time had passed until his mother’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you ok? Your food is getting cold!” she called out. “Yeah, Mom, I’m coming!” he responded, his voice echoing back through the hallway.

Entering the kitchen, Cyborg found his mother by the stove, her movements efficient and practiced as she tended to the cooking eggs. “Finally decided to join the land of the living? 

Wow, you look way better than last night. How are you feeling? Galen and Major have already eaten,” she said, her eyes reflecting a mix of relief and concern as she glanced over at him.

“I actually feel really good, like I had the best sleep ever! …and I woke up full of energy,” Cyborg exclaimed with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

From the adjoining living room, the lively giggles of his younger brothers, Galen and Major, filled the air, a testament to their morning high spirits. They were undoubtedly immersed in their playful world, their laughter a comforting background to the morning routine.

“Mom,” Cyborg said as he settled into his seat at the breakfast table, his eyes momentarily drawn to the wide windows framing their kitchen. Beyond the glass, the endless expanse of cornfields stretched out, a sea of golden-green stalks dancing gently in the summer breeze. Here and there, the serene landscape was punctuated by the methodical buzz of drones from the neighboring Phoenix farm, dutifully tending to the crops.

Lost in thought, Cyborg continued, “Mom, I think I had a dream last night. It wasn’t one of my typical movie dreams, though. It’s weird; I can’t remember much, just a feeling that it was… interesting, somehow.” He trailed off, breaking off a piece of toast and thoughtfully dipping it into the rich, golden yolk of his dippy egg.

Mrs. Baselmonk cast him a concerned glance. “You had quite the scare yesterday; you must have been exhausted. Are you sure you are ok? How are your blisters?”

Before Cyborg could delve further into his thoughts about the dream, the kitchen was suddenly filled with the lively energy of Galen. His tousled hair bobbed with every animated step he took. Hot on his heels was Major, his young face set in a determined frown. “Galen’s hiding my toys again! He said he put them in the cornfields!” he declared with as much seriousness as a five-year-old could muster.

Galen, with a theatrical roll of his eyes, retorted, “It’s not hiding, Major. It’s a treasure hunt!”

Amused by their banter, Cyborg couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll help you guys find them,” he offered enthusiastically. His mother, however, was quick to express her concern. “Cyborg, are you sure you’re up for this? What about your blisters? They were so bad last night!”

Cyborg reassured her, lifting his feet to show the improvement. “Look, Mom, they’re way better now. That ointment really worked wonders – no pus and hardly any pain!” 

Mrs. Baselmonk eyed him with a mix of relief and skepticism. “Alright, but be careful, okay? And please, let me know first if you’re going somewhere,” she cautioned, her maternal instinct evident in her tone.

Cyborg nodded in agreement, his mind already leaping to the post-breakfast adventure. “Guess we’re on a mission after breakfast then,” he grinned, turning to his brothers. “Who knows, we might even find some real treasures in the cornfields.”

Just as Cyborg finished his breakfast, he gathered his brothers, Galen and Major, and led them toward the part of the cornfield that bordered their backyard. He had a hunch that this was where Galen would have hidden the toys – close enough for a child’s idea of a ‘treasure hunt.’

Galen, at seven, was the embodiment of youthful energy and determination. With his blonde hair often messed up from his adventures, he was known for his speed, darting around like a swift breeze. A hard worker by nature, Galen approached every task with a fervor that undermined his young age. However, his intolerance for failure was a shadow that loomed large in his sunny disposition. Whenever he fell short of his own expectations, he would spiral into self-criticism, getting somewhat depressed. His parents often had to remind him of the importance of positive self-talk and mindset shifts. They would say things like, “Galen, remember, it’s not about being perfect; it’s about trying your best,” or “Every mistake is just a step towards getting better.” These small mantras helped him to bounce back, slowly learning to embrace his efforts rather than the outcome.

Major, just five years old, was the sunshine of the family with his blonde curls and a smile that could light up any room. He was always eager to lend a hand, his small fingers attempting tasks with a determination that was both heartwarming and amusing. Unlike Galen, Major was not easily discouraged. Obstacles were merely fun challenges in his eyes. However, his fearlessness often bordered on recklessness. While admirable, his innocence and lack of fear often put him in situations that required swift intervention from his older siblings or parents.

As they ventured into the dense stalks of fully grown corn, some stalks reaching higher than 10 feet in the air, Cyborg’s eyes quickly spotted a likely hiding spot: a small piece of plywood lying inconspicuously among the plants. Lifting it, they discovered Major’s toy monster truck hidden in a small hollow underneath. But their moment of triumph was short-lived. Lurking dangerously close to Galen’s feet was a copperhead snake, its presence unnoticed until it struck out, hitting his water moccasin. Thankfully, the shoes were snake-proof, a precaution their mother insisted on for just such encounters.

Galen, startled by the sudden attack, stumbled and fell backward. Cyborg’s reflexes kicked in, and he reached down to pull his brother away from the snake. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Major, innocently unaware of the danger, walking towards the snake.

“Major, stop!” Cyborg shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. In one swift motion, he scooped Galen off the ground, pushing him behind. His heart pounded as he positioned himself between Major and the snake, ready to protect his younger brother at all costs. The snake, agitated by the commotion, coiled, ready to strike again.

Without a second’s hesitation, Cyborg sprang into action. Jumping up, he grasped the top of a nearby corn stalk and yanked it downwards, creating a sharp bend at its base. With a swift, calculated movement, he swung the stalk in front of the snake just as it lunged toward his boot. The snake’s strike was diverted and met empty air, missing its target.

Then, with a sense of urgency, Cyborg scooped up Major in an awkward but effective embrace, his heart racing with adrenaline. “Run, Galen!” he shouted, his voice echoing with both fear and authority. Galen, still shaken from the close encounter, needed no further prompting. Together, the three brothers dashed out of the cornfield, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the lurking danger.

Once they cleared the boundary of the cornfield and spilled into their backyard, they slowed down, gasping for air, their breaths coming in ragged heaves. The immediate danger had passed, but the intensity of the moment still hung heavily in the air. They had escaped unharmed.

“Are you guys okay?” Cyborg asked, looking at his brothers with concern. They both nodded, still shaken but unharmed. “Let’s go inside and tell Mom,” he suggested, eager to leave the scene of their scare behind them.

As they made their way back to the house, Cyborg glanced back at the towering corn stalks. He remembered the sheer height of his leap amidst the chaos and felt a surge of pride. “Hey, did you guys see how high I jumped back there?” he asked them, a small smile playing on his lips.

Major and Galen nodded enthusiastically. Encouraged by their reaction, Cyborg tried to replicate the jump, wanting to relive that moment of unexpected bravery. He crouched and leaped, but this time he barely got off the ground. Landing with a soft thud, he couldn’t help but giggle at himself. “Guess I can’t do it again,” he admitted. “Maybe I was just super scared or something and that caused an adrenaline rush.”

As the Baselmonk boys were walking up the porch stairs to their house and into the kitchen, they began calling out for their mom at the top of their lungs. Mrs. Baselmonk, alarmed by the urgency in their voices, came rushing out of the house. “What’s happened now?!” she exclaimed, her eyes quickly scanning each of them for any signs of injury.

Galen, still catching his breath from the excitement, stuttered out the story. “Th-there was a s-snake! It bit my boot and almost got Major!” His words tumbled out in a rush, his eyes wide with the recent memory of the encounter.

Major, his eyes shining and hands raised high in the air, chimed in with childlike enthusiasm, “Cyborg saved me!” 

Hearing this, a wave of happiness and pride washed over Cyborg. He had acted bravely, protected his brothers, and now, here they were, safe and sound. His mother’s expression softened from concern to relief and then to pride as she listened to their tale.

Mrs. Baselmonk looked at her boys, a mix of worry and amazement in her eyes. “Oh wow,” she exclaimed. “You’ve certainly had your share of adventures lately, haven’t you, Cyborg?” She suggested with a motherly tone, “Why don’t you boys come inside and eat lunch?” Her gaze drifted to the large kitchen window, pointing outside. “Besides, it looks like it’s about to rain, and I’ve noticed the drones aren’t out tending to the crops and I don’t like you boys playing in the cornfield without them out there.”

The absence of the drones was indeed a reliable indicator of impending bad weather. Programmed to return to their charging stations at the first sign of an approaching storm, they were also purposed with moderately good intelligence models to detect humans in the fields, ensuring no one was accidentally sprayed with crop treatments and things of that nature. But these drones had become more than just farm helpers; they had saved lives.

Two summers ago, as a particularly harsh thunderstorm was approaching, a story unfolded that had since become a legend in their community. A young couple, hiking through the fields, found themselves disoriented as the storm rolled in. As they were tracking the cornfield perimeter, one of the Phoenix farm’s drones, on its way back to charge, detected their presence and signaled to one of the fully charged drones to deploy and guide them to safety. However, as visibility dropped rapidly, and the heavy rain made it nearly impossible to find a way back. As they huddled together, lost and frightened, the Phoenix farm’s fully charged drone arrived. 

Despite the buffeting winds and rain, the drone hovered above them, its lights piercing through the gloom. It emitted a series of beeps, signaling for them to follow. Trusting the drone, the couple staggered through the mud and rain, following the drone’s guiding lights. The drone led them safely out of the fields and towards the nearest road, where they were found by a search party that had been alerted by the drone’s emergency signal.

Day 1.5

After their lunch, the Baselmonk boys huddled around their gaming console. Their game of choice revolved around their Drone Combat League (DCL) clan, a team they were always tweaking using items they called “things”, which are swappable and/or used for upgrades. They were always building their drones up by trying to earn new things in the free version. Once the actual game started, they were pitted against other DCL clans spanning across Earth and Mars. 

Cyborg, while enjoying the game, didn’t take it too seriously. He was there more for the fun times and the brotherly bond it fostered. Galen, on the other hand, brought a different level of intensity to the game. His talent was undeniable, having once clinched an impressive second place in a regional DCL event. Major, the youngest, though not as skilled or strategic as his brothers, played with undiminished zeal. His lack of finesse in the game did nothing to dampen his spirits, win or lose.

Their parents didn’t mind much either. The DCL was more than just entertainment; it hosted competitive, seasonal events where players could earn points, convertible into small amounts of Bitcoin upon reaching certain milestones. Furthermore, the skills learned in-game translated to real-world value as drone technician jobs were in high demand, given the DCL’s real-life field competitions and even the farming drones they saw every day. Mr. Phoenix seemed to always have the Drone Tech van driving up his driveway for something. 

But today, their game was just for kicks – a free version Capture-the-Flag round. But that didn’t lessen their engagement. Each brother had fun piloting their drones, plotting strategies, and enjoying every moment of their virtual skirmishes, filling the room with a blend of concentration and laughter.

Cyborg’s gaming session hadn’t gone as planned. His drone met its virtual demise for the third time, knocking him out of the game early. Deciding to take a break, he retreated to his room to immerse himself in a book until dinner. It wasn’t the usual routine, but the family had agreed that dining together would be beneficial, especially considering the recent extraordinary events.

Post-dinner, Cyborg had the chore of clearing the table and tackling the dirty dishes. His mother, meanwhile, busied herself with preparing Galen and Major for bed. Once the kitchen was back in order, Cyborg joined his family in the nightly routine, and he began to undress for a shower, peeling off the bandages that covered his various wounds.

As he took off his socks the first thing he noticed, and to his amazement, he discovered that his feet had completely healed. The blisters that had marred his skin were gone without a trace. It was as if they had never been there in the first place.

As he started to remove the bandages, something even more unusual caught his attention. The places where the thorns and corn leaves had cut him now bore, uniformly rough metallic-looking patches. There was no pain, but they were an eerie dark metallic hue, unlike anything he had seen before. Initially, Cyborg thought these were isolated to just a few spots, but then he felt what could be a similar patch on the back of his upper thigh. Curious and slightly alarmed, he turned to face the bathroom mirror for a better view. 

His mother, who had just come in to check on him, let out a gasp. 

A small, shiny spot on his skin was reflected in the glass, gleaming like polished chrome. It was no larger than a dime, a stark contrast to his regular skin. The sight was both fascinating and unsettling. 

He looked at his mother in shock.