Chapter 2, Day 0.0

Limping towards home, Cyborg moved with an almost angry determination. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the world in the soft, eerie glow of twilight and the emerging stars. Every step was a monumental effort, his body screaming for rest, but his will pushing him forward.

As the last light of dusk surrendered to the night, Cyborg Baselmonk, with every ounce of his remaining strength, wobbled towards the side door of his family home. His body, a canvas of exhaustion and pain, moved almost mechanically, driven by the sheer will to reach safety. The familiar creak of the door seemed to echo louder than usual in the silent house as he stumbled into the kitchen. The kitchen lights stung his eyes, a stark contrast to the dimming twilight he had left behind. He swayed slightly, his legs giving way beneath him, and he collapsed onto the cool kitchen floor, a heap of torn clothes, cuts, and exhaustion.

His voice, barely more than a hoarse whisper, cracked as he called out for his mother. “Mom… help,” he managed to say, his words dissolving into the quiet of the house. 

Upstairs with his little brothers, his mother, unaware of the ordeal her son had just endured, must have heard the door sensor chime and responded with the routine sternness of a parent at bedtime. “Cyborg, are you there? Get up here right now and take a shower! It’s time for bed!”

Gathering the last bit of his energy, Cyborg shouted back, his voice laced with desperation. “MOM, HEEEELLPP! Please help me!”

His mother, sensing something amiss in his tone, replied, albeit still unaware of the gravity of the situation. “Knock it off, Cyborg. Get up here, and I will help you.”

“I can’t. I am hurt! Please come down here; I can’t get up,” Cyborg cried out, his voice a mix of pain and relief at being so close to safety and care.

After a few agonizing minutes, his mother appeared in the kitchen, expecting to find her son indulging in a bit of dramatics. However, the sight that greeted her was far from what she had anticipated. Cyborg lay there, his body marked by the misadventures of the day, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Mrs. Baselmonk gasped in shock at her battered son on the floor, “Are you really hurt, or are you just playing around?” she asked without thinking, her voice tinged with hope that this was a prank or something as she knelt beside him.

“They, they left me in the woods, Mom!” Cyborg’s voice broke as he finally allowed the tears to flow. “Dax and his new friend Tim… We were playing by the creek, and then they wanted to explore the woods, but when we got in there pretty far, they took off running, and I couldn’t catch them!”

Upon further questioning and seeing the true extent of her son’s injuries, his mother’s anger flared. She was furious at the thought of her child being abandoned and endangered. After quickly assessing that Cyborg wasn’t in immediate danger, she helped him sit up and, with a stern look, told him to wait while she made a phone call.

She stepped away, dialing Dax’s home first. The conversation was brief but intense, her voice stern as she relayed the day’s events to Dax’s mother. The response on the other end was apologetic, and she could sense that Dax’s mother was appalled at her son’s behavior. Attempting to call Tim’s house next, she found no answer, leaving her with a promise to herself to follow up the next day.

Returning to Cyborg, she found him sitting quietly, his eyes reflecting a mix of pain and relief. She helped him to his feet and guided him to the bathroom, where she ran a warm bath. As Cyborg eased into the water, the stinging of his cuts and scrapes was sharp, drawing a wince with each movement. The warm water, though soothing, was a wincing reminder of the thorns, the scrapes, and the exhausting journey through the woods.

As she gently cleaned his wounds, her anger subsided, replaced by a mother’s deep concern and love. Cyborg, feeling the sting of the water on his cuts, tried to hold back his tears, but the emotions of the day were too much. He broke down, crying softly. His mother, seeing his tears, softened her tone.

“Oh, Cyborg,” his mother’s voice was both gentle and soothing, cutting through the tension of the moment. “Thank God for watching over you! Think of all the things that could have gone wrong out there – wild animals, broken bones, snakes! You’re so lucky to have come through this safely, and we have God to thank for that. You are so brave and strong; I am so proud of you for finding your way home.” 

As she was helping him dry off and as a stern side note, she added, “You are supposed to tell me where you are going when you leave the house! What if you didn’t make it back? I wouldn’t know where to start looking!”

Cyborg sniffled, looking up at his mother through teary eyes. “But they left me, Mom… Why would they do that?”

His mother sighed, her heart aching for her son. “Sometimes, people make poor choices, especially when they’re young. It’s important to know who your true friends are. Friends should protect and care for each other, not leave one another in danger.”

She continued, carefully bandaging a particularly nasty scrape on his knee. “You’re growing up, Cyborg, and you’re learning more about the world and people every day. Remember, true strength isn’t just about getting through tough situations; it’s also about understanding and forgiveness. But it’s equally important to protect yourself from those who might not treat you right.”

Cyborg listened, absorbing her words. The pain of his physical wounds was still there, but his mother’s words brought a different kind of healing. He nodded, a sense of understanding dawning within him.

Tucked into bed later, with his glow-in-the-dark nightlight casting a comforting glow in his room, Cyborg lay quietly, reflecting on the day’s events. The adventure had been harrowing, but it had also revealed a resilience and inner strength he hadn’t known he had. He felt different now; something had changed inside of him. 

As he drifted off to sleep, he felt sad and wondered if he had any real friends at all. 

Day 0.7

In the midst of a dimly lit chamber, portal-like screens hummed, their images filled with lively patterns and codes. One screen, closer to Baselmonk, momentarily mirrored his face before dissipating into a sea of swirling prismatic colors and then granular colored dust that seemed to get sucked through the portal it materialized on. 

These light sources cast their illumination upon young Cyborg Baselmonk, comfortably wrapped in luminescent threads: the Helvetium. Occasionally, a thread would sway in the direction of a screen as if attempting to communicate or connect. These strands seemed to breathe with Cyborg, transmitting a kaleidoscope of memories and emotions.

As Cyborg awakened, one of the screens flickered more vibrantly, sensing his increased consciousness. His eyes blinked slowly. The chamber reacted; the screens’ glow dimmed to give him a moment of adjustment. He was briefly inundated by a rush of memories, from a range of serene to the most recent traumatic experience of being lost in the woods. As memories surged, the patterns on the screens danced more erratically, then calmingly subsided, as if a recursive algorithm just finished running. 

From a shadowed corner, where the screens seemed hesitant to shine, an elderly observer stood looking systematically at several of the portal-like screens as if in constant calculation. This figure exuded an air of timeless wisdom, holding what looked like an old religious book; he was dressed in attire that seemed ancient but not of human origin. 

“Where am I?” the boy mumbled, half asleep. 

The figure stopped, stepped forward, and silently offered the book to Baselmonk. There was no cover;  its pages bore the marks of many hands and many years, with all of the pages bound via old brown twine. The writing on the top page appeared to be random letters from different languages around the world, and he could not recognize any specific patterns. 

Instinctively, Cyborg reached out and took the book. As Cyborg made contact with it, something happened; the room was filled with a sound, a surreal tone that was unimaginablely unique and immensely powerful, but powerful in a serene way. 

Then, he instinctively became aware, through a memory mechanism his 9 year old brain didn’t understand, perhaps it was his subconsious, that the book was merely designed to look like a religious book so that he would grab it without much hesitation. However, in this place, wherever ‘this place’ was, he immediately percieved the book to be a common syncing tool, and it just activated something within him.  

In a deep, indifferent voice, the figure began speaking, “My name is Mehsmai,” resonating with the weight of countless years. You are in the interspace, where reality and potential overlap.  This book contains 481,547 earth S.E.Y.’s (secular evolution years) worth of our observations that we have harvested from your species. This space is where we make the selected ones into alloys capable of overcoming decay, in this case, you, with the ability to integrate with Element 144.”

“W, w, w, what?” “What is going on? What are you talking about?” he said in shock. 

Mehsmai shifted slightly as if to adjust to the cognitive abilities of the candidate, “On Earth, you know Element 144 as Helvetium, which, your scientists experimented with and uncovered how to use it for anti-gravity transportation and other technologies, but their methods are as limited as they are. Under the right circumstances, it is capable of zero entropy and an infinite half-life”

Cyborg was confused, “Um, I, I, I don’t know… Excuse me sir, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Mehsmai shifted again, as if to adjust his level communication once more,  “A defiance of entropy, means that Helvetium can exist in a state where it doesn’t succumb to the chaos that wears down all things over time. This zero entropy means it remains perfectly ordered, unchanged by the ages. Its infinite half-life speaks to an energy that doesn’t deplete, a resilience that defies the natural decay all materials are subject to.”

Mehsmai then tilted his head down and to the right, and stared directly into Cyborg’s right eye, “This means it will last forever. And you’re here because you’re part of something much larger than what man can see on the surface, something that intersects with the very essence of Helvetium and its unique properties. You’re here to learn how to harness that potential, to understand that what’s happening to you is a process of unveiling those inherent qualities one over another. Your presence here, your journey, is about unlocking that understanding and your potential”

Cyborg blinked, processing this simplified version, the confusion in his eyes slowly giving way to understanding.

“I don’t know why, but I feel like I understand, but I still really don’t,” Cyborg mumbled again. 

Mehsmai’s voice carried a blend of caution and optimism as he spoke, “Your potential is not the same as realization. The power of Helvetium is immense. I can’t tell you anything else in order to maintain an appropriate level of autonomy…to let your choices be as free as possible; doing so could jeopardize the weak force neutrino scaffolding we’ve just seeded into your cells.” 

Retrieving the book, Mehsmai turned and headed toward the distant corner of the room from which he had come. Midway, he paused, turned around, and looked at young Baselmonk with kindness. “For some time, you will not remember this place or me unless you accomplish what I hope you will.”

As the final word left Mehsmai’s lips, the first warmth of sunlight snuck into Baselmonk’s room, rousing him gently from his slumber. Mehsmai’s voice seemed to grow fainter, echoing as if from a distance. The ambient-lit chamber’s glow began to meld with the soft golden rays of the morning sun. 

And just like that, the room, Mehsmai, and the Helvetium all began to blur, melding together and fading away. 

The sheets felt unusually crisp against his skin as if freshly laundered, contrasting the weighty atmosphere of the chamber he felt but could not recall. Opening his eyes, he saw his familiar room: a soccer ball, his rock collection all over the floor, some dirty clothes, his dresser that was passed down to him from Grandpa, and the comforting scent of home.

He sat up, stretching out the sleepiness, his feet touching the cold wooden floor. It was a typical summer morning, and yet, there was a faint, almost imperceptible tug in the back of his mind as if trying to grasp the remnants of a fading dream.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Cyborg walked to the bathroom; he paused for a moment, hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath as he tried to shake off the residual feeling of an unknown dream – or was it a memory?

Just then, he heard his mom shouting up at him from downstairs.