7h3 4n5w3r5

In the year 2084 CE, the United Nations formally declared world peace. The world was in such a disarray that more people were dying of environmental disasters than soldiers fighting in wars. World peace was stated so that each individual nation could stop spending resources in a pointless war but on the citizens instead. However, many people question if this action was taken too late.

Overpopulation struck the majority of 1st world countries. The currently population is above 16 billion, and steadily rising. Cities became metropolises, giant locations covered in a forest of sky scrapers and apartment buildings. With advanced in medical technology, most people lived beyond age 120 due to cell-encouraged organ growth and precise machinery in surgery. Forget about combating MRSA and cancer, and replace the infected organs instead. Seniors ignored plastic surgery and wear their scars with pride, to indicate the number of infections they survived.

With overpopulation came a multitude of problems. First was waste. The Green Initiative back in the early millennium failed as more people grew lazy and ignorant of the necessity of recycling. Landfills grew massive, huge mountains that rival the height of K2. Islands of trash developed in the oceans. In the cities, gutters are littered with trash and human waste. The majority of the world (70%) live in the alleys, floor, and dark corridors of metroplosis or slums. The floor is covered in a layer of shit. This, of course, in accompanied by a rancid smell. The middle-class and rich minority learned to grow callous of the poor, wearing 8 inch high platform shoes and masks.

With no recycling, global warming became rampant. The average temperature is above 103 Fahrenheit, but ranging above 130 to below 0. The atmosphere is disrupted with pollutants - everyone must wear purifier masks to obtain clean oxygen. Many also wear glasses to protect their eyes from the smog. The oceans became imbalanced, with heat and waste, destroying the entire ecosystem. No animals live in the ocean except for in the deepest depths, places where humans wouldn't bother fishing. The land also became polluted, unable to grow any plants. Food is grown in giant skyscrapers, each floor with a mini-sun and ample water. Fish is gained from large aquariums built to correct specifications that inhabit certain fish. Water is obtained through giant waste purifiers that purifies ocean water to clean water.

Fortunately, technology has progressed greatly. Although cars cannot fly, highways are built on multiple stories of metroplosis. Each highway is also accompanied by a monorail that travels 400mph around the city. Cars themselves travel on average 120 mph on the highway. However, these vehicles are neglected by most of the younger generation who don't work or don't want to work. They stay inside with their funky complex computers and cellular phones. Students enjoy the Cloud than the cloud of smog outside. Heck, even adults enjoy the Cloud over leaving their homes to go to work.

Their time in the Cloud allowed them to discover a complex code, a string of numbers that never belonged in the cyberspace.



You can start anywhere in the world, and be of any age. I suggest less than 40 though. You must have access to a computer, but that doesn't mean you must be in the middle/rich class, i.e. you stole one or are good friends with a rich kid. Be imaginative, I left out lots of details. Cybernetics, AI, robot butlers, chimeras. Go explore!

Ayden Wyatt pushes a cart of green balls and plastic rackets down the busy street. With a population of nearly 40 million, New York City grew into gigantic metropolis. Only about a few million are well off and comfortable while the rest live in deplorable conditions. The smell of human waste and smog destroys the nose of any commuter; a purifier mask with an odor-nullify feature is a must.

Ayden enters the New York Recreational Tower, passing through the revolving entrance door.

"Personnel matches the DNA of Ayden Wyatt, Tennis Coach," states a robotic voice. The revolving door stops 180 degrees from the entrance, and allows Ayden to enter the main floor with his cart of tennis gear. If anyone, whose DNA does not match the the official list of the building, enters the facility, the revolving door takes them completely around and does not let them enter the building. This DNA-scanning door prevents any homeless person from enjoying the benefits of clean, cool, humidified air in the facility.

"If only I could get this air filter installed in my apartment," sighs Ayden, to no one in particular, as he takes off his mask and breathes the delicious air.

"Mr. Wyatt, why don't you come over to my house for supper. We have this exact air filter on my house floor." A blond-haired boy, roughly 11 years old, asks behind him.

Ayden turns. "Boon, I cannot possibly intrude on your family. Besides, what would your father say about eating with me, a tennis coach, when he is the CEO of Crabapple." Crabapple, is the largest telecommunication corporation in the world, providing the entire Earth with reliable cellular devices, television programs, and fast computers. "Now come on, can't come to class later than your teacher." Ayden presses the button the beckon an elevator. The elevator arrives immediately, opening its doors. Ayden enters inside with his cart, with Boon close behind. Ayden presses the 8th floor labelled Tennis. Each floor in the New York Recreational Tower is dedicated to one sport, ranging from basketball to table tennis. Due to the bad atmosphere, all sports are now played indoors.

"Well sorry for being a little late. I was getting my new wrist-phone. Look here!" said Boon excitedly, extending his right arm. Along the wrist was a narrow strip of circuitry. These are the latest in portable holographic-phone gadgetry. "The 2085 model, straight out of R & D. Now with added disco-light feature!" Following his words, the elevator erupts in a multitude of colorful circles.

"Wow, that's pretty neat!" replies Ayden. However, he thought it was pretty pathetic the new disco-light feature is considered necessary. His own 2082 Illusion phone only lacks a Disco light, starlight projector, and mini-comb ejection. Rich people have it so easy.

Ding!

The elevator opens to a large gymnasium with nine individual tennis courts equally spaced out from each other. The walls are composed of 4-inch thick clear plastic, exposing the hazy skyscraper forest outside. To the right, on the east wing is a revolving door opening to the balcony, for any person taking the highway. Since cars extremely fast, excess of 120 mph, car movement is restricted to the air. Multiple highways have been built every 8 floors or so in New York City, interconnecting all the skyscrapers together. People are only allowed to walk on the ground floor. Furthermore, in New York City, since the traffic is terrible, all cars are actually run by robotic navigators. Like a taxi, all one must do is tell the robot where to go and it will take you there in breathtaking time, traveling bumper to bumper with other cars since all robot-car combinations have an interconnected communication network.

Around the center of the gymnasium is a couple dozen of kids, ranging from 8 to 14. With limited exercise opportunities, kids hunt down recreational facilities such as the NYRT. It’s normal for a coach to teach 50 or more students these days.

It’s 12:00 PM, dinner time. Thanks to all the rich parents who sponsor the program, the students get the best and fresh food possible. Along the west wing is a buffet with cuisine prepared by hired chefs. Not only do children exercise, but learn about nutrition to prevent becoming malnourished like the majority of the world, or obese, the disease striking the majority of the upper class.

“Hey, its coach Wyatt!”
“Hi Mr. Wyatt!”
“Coach, I think I can actually score a point against you!”
“I’m hungry!”

“Hey kids!” Ayden says with a smile. Kids loved his infectious energy and joy with tennis. He knew exactly how to teach and improve the skills of his students. Teaching was never something Ayden expected himself to do. It somewhat just happened when he was crowned the only male to achieve a Golden Grand Slam in 2080 at the age of 20. Afterwards, rich CEOs sought him for private lessons for their kids. Ayden then learned his joy was not in tennis, but passing down his knowledge of tennis to other bright-future individuals.

Ayden places his cart of tennis gear to the side. “Now, ya know what time it is,” he says.

“Dinner time!” the children yell in glee.

“That’s right!” said Ayden. “But don’t go stuffing yer face.” He walks down the aisle of food, inspecting the delicious cuisine prepared for a couple of kids – a meal worth a fortune to him. “Now, we have pasta, fried chicken, fried fish, American fries, make-your-own sandwich platters, and the best bowls of fresh greens and fruit.” The entire group groans. “Hey, I better see fruit and vegis on all of yo plates. Or that’ll be 24 laps around the gym.” The kids promptly gasp. “Now hurry up and get your food. And remember…”

“Whatever we put on our plate we put in our mouth” chorused the kids as they line up.

“That’s right” Ayden said as he beams. He taught these kids well.

“Hey ‘borg! Get back to the Undercity where you belong. You reek!”

The ‘borg brushed aside the rude comment and continued along his way, quick paced but otherwise unfazed. He wore a heavy leather duster over himself, but even with that precaution, people were quick to make out the glint of metal from beneath his sleeve.

It wasn’t often that he chose to come to the Overcity. Indeed, he found the Overcity quite lecherous to behold. Blazing electronic billboards advertising the latest must-haves developed by Crabapple watched you from every corner. The rich strutted around on their platform shoes, completely ignoring the starving beggars that littered the street. The ‘borg grimaced as a sneering young man kicked over the oxygen tank of an elderly beggar. Unable to afford a purifier mask, the beggar managed to get by taking sparing sips of oxygen from the tank.

“You alright Pops?” the ‘borg asked, helping the elderly man set his tank upright and allowing him to inhale deeply from the hose.

“It could always be worse,” the beggar quite rightly wheezed.

It was another twenty minute walk before the ‘borg finally entered a building to be greeted by a chilly breeze of air conditioning.

“Well if it isn’t the good doctor Wren Hintering. Can’t say I was expecting you so early this month.” A large man beamed at the ‘borg from the counter.

“Well Scrapper, my boys haven’t been able to scrounge up any decent parts recently. Folks keep coming in, and I gotta keep up, y’know,” the ‘borg said.

“Fortunatel for you, I get your parts ready in advance. Maybe I get bonus for being so cooperative?” Scrapper grinned.

“Sorry Scraps,” Wren said, “Can’t afford it.”

“Don’t hurt to ask, no?”

Hintering left the shop with a large bag of mechanical parts thrown over his shoulder. He’d gotten what he’d come for. Now it was time to get back to the Midcity. The wealthy had devised a system to keep the poor out of sight and out of mind. The rich and middle class lived in the Overcity, mostly luxurious for all its faults. The poor were delegated to the Midcity, where the city was older, paint peeling and certain buildings beginning to fall into shambles. But the people who had it worst off lived in the Undercity, a rank dismal place pungent with the odour of vomit and fecal matter. Gangs controlled the Undercity, and had a sizable presence in the Midcity, but the Overcity was kept clear by law enforcement. Still, this didn’t stop beggars from seeping through the gaps in futile attempts at making lives for themselves.

Doctor Wren Hintering’s clinic was in the Midcity, as was his home which was attached to the clinic. His clinic was actually in the New York Recreational Tower. Skyscrapers were so immeasurably tall that many reached all the way from the Undercity to the Overcity. One building could have a dozen different uses, the lower one went. It was doubtful that the staff of the New York Recreational Tower was even aware of his little covert operation. Hintering wasn’t a doctor in the truest sense. He’d never even completed medical school. He was a sawbones: an illegal surgeon that offered services to those who couldn’t afford the pricy lab-grown organs and body parts the rich could afford. Though cyborgs were looked down upon by most denizens of the Overcity, most people would choose ostracism over death. Hintering’s clinic was in fact more a charity than a profitable venture. Patients paid what they were able, and volunteers helped scavenge for usable parts Wren would be able to use in his surgeries. A genius, Wren Hintering knew two things better than most: the human body and mechanical engineering. Sawbones may have been regarded as unholy artisans, but Wren believed he did good work.

War is peace.

Or at least that's what he remembered reading in one of those old paperbooks, back when they were around. Well, they were still around, but they were extremely rare, and were on the list of products banned from being produced under the new Restablize Earth Provisions. Or maybe it stood for "plan." Or "reinvigorate." He really couldn't remember the details of the speech. Besides, why would you need paperbooks, when you could read in in the Cloud(or even be a part of it, in certain books)?

And that's what Red Heart recipient, Seth Kindler, former member of the disbanded Better American Military began to do as he trudged over to his complimentary "Explorer" machine in his quarters. The former BAM base was located somewhere in the southwestern part of Original States. After the mandatory disarmament of all nations, the States decided to turn all their military bases into large farms, designed to grow food for the nation, and deliver them using repurposed, demilitarized vehicles. This meant that a convoy of tanks rolling into your city no longer signaled the certain strategically pointless decimation, but food rations and enough breathable air for months.

At least, that was the hope.

In reality, overestimation of food production capabilities, underestimation of how desperately thrust into poverty the nation's lower classes were, and the generally agreed upon of estimation of the efficiency rate of a government on the verge of collapse made Invigoration programs slower than hoped for.

Granted, as Seth plunked down on his recycled iron scrap chair, all of that began to wash away as his first week off rotation began. He spoke his passphrase into the machine, "Count your blessings." The machine beeped cheerily for a second, and showed him his homescreen.

After the splendid dinner, most people should wait at least 30 minutes before performing rigorous activity. For the impatient, they could take Instagest, a fancy pill that completely molecularizes the food particles in your stomach, making it easy for the intestines to absorb food in a matter of seconds. However, since Ayden teaches both health and fitness, 30 minutes of strenuous stretching works just as well.

With the children lined up in neat rows, shortest in the front and oldest in the back, stretching commences.

"Arms up! Reach for the satellites! Higher, higher. Now keep those hands up. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Still hold it. Now exhale. Good job. Hey, I never said to drop those hands! Okay, now you can drop them. But bring em down to the ground till you touch your toes."

This continues for a solid 30 minutes.

"Alright kiddos. Now pair up and play doubles with each other. Don't be shy if the guy is taller than you. I'll be watching your every move, so don't be shy to show off."

The gymnasium fills with the sound of high pitched grunts, coupled by a few low ones, balls ricocheting off the ground, and the occasional squeak of sliding sneakers. Tennis remained the same for the past century - no fancy footwear or gear like No-G rugby.

Ding! The elevator opens behind Ayden. He turns, and is approached by a robo-porter in a three-piece suit.

"Package for Ayden Wyatt." speaks the monotone, computerized voice. Since engineers wanted to distinguish humans and human-robot look-a-likes, robots maintain a monotonous, nasal voice that is impossible to imitate by human vocal cords.

Ayden approaches the porter and pats its shoulder. "Thank you Arnold." He receives a red rose and a small card with ornate decorations. He raises an eyebrow; vegetation is non-existent in metropolises like these, and a rose is extremely rare and expensive. The card reads : 1900, The Palate Garden, wear green. Ayden rolls his eyes, Katie is such an extravagant spender.

“Hey Wren, you’re home earlier than I expected.”

“Scrapper had the parts ready before I got there. I thought he’d keep me for half of the day, chatting me up like usual.”

Wren collapsed on the worn couch, though not before tossing his leather duster unceremoniously on the table, revealing the machinery underneath. His entire left arm and shoulder were robotic, as well as a fair portion of his torso. The chrome plating was scuffed in places, though it seemed to be regularly maintained.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat, eh Liz?” Wren asked.

“With the clinic in the shape it is? I got home just before you did. Roberta and Javier were finally able to come in though, so I was able to get off early.”

Elizabeth Fitzgerald-Hintering was a small statured woman, which belied her charismatic appeal and ability to get things done. If Wren was the brains behind the Midcity Recreational Clinic, as it has humorously been dubbed, then Liz was the heart, mind, and soul.

“Fringe finally letting up?” Wren asked.

“I don’t think so,” Liz shook her head, “Fringe is letting people they deem ‘important’ enough pass through without paying their toll. They need sawbones as much as everyone else, it seems. Javier brought in two Fringers when he came in, and Roberta brought in a third.”

“Fringe in my clinic,” Wren grimaced, “Best they just rot in the Undercity. They can shove their damn politics.”

“Be grateful we don’t have gang wars to contend with up here,” Liz said.

“Not yet,” Wren answered, “but Fringe holding such a big grip on this sector’s gonna bring trouble, I swear.”

“I’m more concerned with having Fringers in the clinic at the moment. We can worry about gang wars when they happen.” Liz frowned, running her hand through her blond hair.

“You mean we’re on their radar now,” Wren said.

“Yes, we’ll have to move carefully from now on,” she paused for a moment, “And you’ll have to find somewhere else to get parts. I don’t want you going up to the Overcity anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Wren insisted.

“That’s what people always say before something happens,” Liz rebutted, “Fringe finds out you’ve got contacts in the Overcity, and they’ll draft you. I’m not losing you to some Undercity gang!”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Wren said.

“I better not. The clinic needs you. And… our baby needs you,” Liz said slowly.

“Baby?” Wren asked.

“I’m pregnant,” Liz said simply, “I only found out this morning, after you left.”

“Is now really the best time?” Wren said.

“We keep asking that question, don’t we?” Liz said, “We keep saying next year will be better, and we’ve been doing that for a decade now. We’re not getting any younger.”

“I see,” Wren said. “I’ll call Scrapper tomorrow and see if we can arrange a more discreet delivery for the next shipment of parts then. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let Fringe screw up our clinic.”

“Thank you.”

With the thought of a lovely dinner with Katie in mind, 1730 comes by quick. No complaining about him playing unfairly nor her can't rallying properly could keep Katie out of his head.

Since today was Monday, June 12th, the cleaning bots aren't due till the weekend, allowing Ayden to leave his cart of equipment in the gymnasium.

1735

Out of the NYRT and back onto the street. With curfew fast approaching at 1800, the streets slowly become deserted. The New York Sweep Team does a great job of kicking those disgusting homeless people off the streets. NYC is also special in that it has its unique night life - where city lights set the stage for sexy dance clubs and fabulous entertainment. All children under the age of 18 are not allowed on the streets after sunset.

Although the streets are nearly empty, the smell of feces and other digusting fumes remain. Probably accompanied by the homeless people who live in the underground sewers. Ayden wears his purifier mask the rest of the way to his apartment.

1800

Although Ayden does not consider himself rich, the fact his sponsors shower him with cash leaves him no choice but to spend it. His apartment is sleek and modern, updated with fine furniture such as varnished oak tables and chairs, charcoal grey leather couches, wall size holo-screen with surround sound, and cherry hardwood floor. The typical Newyorker would own heavy duty plastic furniture, if any at all.

Ayden strips of his sweaty clothes and hops into his shower. The warm, frothy lavender-scented water washes all the filth from his body. He's in and out of the shower in less than 3 minutes. A quick turn above the drying vent and he's perfectly clean.

1805

Most people see the insides of apartments, so clothes define people. And Ayden's closet is no exception. From suits to watches, he has it all. One must look nice in front of the cameras. The thought of green crosses his mind.

Throwing on a white undershirt, Ayden slips into a seafoam green dress shirt. He tucks it in an evergreen dress pants with a black belt coupled with a silver buckle. He slips into black dress shoes and ties his evergreen tie - full Windsor of course. He tops it off with an evergreen two button jacket. Yet he remains incomplete.

Hair, is a completely different story. No one ever goes bald, blasphemy. Hair defines if you're a downer or a partier. Carefully selecting his evergreen hair gel, Ayden works it through his hair, transforming his light brown strands to radiant evergreen. He pulls them into fun spikes, then waits a few seconds for the gel to settle and harden the hair. Then he works his hands through his hair to separate the spikes, leaving his hair in a spiky, yet non-glossy natural look. Perfect.

1815

Right before leaving, Ayden grabs his Tag Heuer and places it on his left wrist. Then, sleek Chopard's on his face. No night life person leaves without his watch and shades. Yes, a holo-phone tells time too, but who likes to stare at a hunk of plastic and chips. Most people fold it into its rectangular mod, from its wrist mod, and store it in their pocket, which Ayden does.

Last minute 24 digit combination into his door, and Ayden leaves his apartment.

1817

Beyond the elevator and outside, Ayden waves his hand and yells "Taxi!" A yellow cab promptly comes and the door opens. He steps in and states "The Palate Garden please." It is located on the roof of Around The World, the fine supper tower of NYC.

1847

A simple drive, and he's on the balcony of the Palate Garden. This restaurant is rare in that it is housed in a greenhouse. Ayden walks through the double glass doors and is smothered in delicious aromas, both of food and plants. This is one of the few places where plants grow in the city. Ayden approaches the maitre d'.

"Reservation for Ayden Wyatt and Katie Holmes."

Pause, as a finger goes down the list. "Ah yes. Area number seven. Right this way."

Ayden follows the maitre d' into the Rose Meadow, the dining among the most cherished of flowers. That rose was pretty significant.

"Here we are," the maitre d' said as he stops at a bench. "I hope you enjoy your supper."

1855

Ayden comfortable sits on the white oak bench and waits for his date. He doesn't wait long before a beautiful blond woman in a silk evergreen dress approaches him. Ayden is stunned. The daughter of Crabapple is stunning.

"Why would a beautiful woman like you ever date me?"

"Why not?" Katie says with a smile.

Dinner was NutriPaste. Banana Flavour. It was the flavour of NutriPaste he found easiest to stomach. Wren wondered whether real bananas were so strongly flavoured. He’d always imagined them as a mild-tasting fruit. Half a tube of the yellow gunk was about equivalent to an evening’s meal. He and Liz practically lived off the stuff, but occasionally one of them arrived home early enough to cook a real meal.

Wren Hintering stood over the sink and pressed the razor to his cheek. He preferred to shave in the evening, allowing ample time for the stubble to regrow overnight. He liked the rugged look of a Midcity man. Liz liked it too, which didn’t hurt.

A father, eh? He and Liz had been considering it for years, but the timing never seemed right. There was the clinic, of course, but also the gang wars and the general… difficulty of raising a child in the Midcity. It wasn’t as bad as the Undercity, but the infant mortality rate in the Midcity was around twenty percent. It just wouldn’t be right for Elizabeth to fall in love with a baby only to have it torn away from her. But if she was willing to risk the gamble, then Wren would back her up as he always did.

Washing away the fallen stubble in the sink, Wren mumbled discontentedly. He opened up the medicine cabinet and removed his hydroswiss. A Swiss army knife with a variety of hydraulic-powered pieces. He glanced across his chest in the mirror, where the metal met the flesh. It was a terrible wound. A portion of his left pectoral muscle had been torn asunder and the lung on that side had been mutilated beyond repair and replaced with an artificial one. His heart had been left mostly intact and by some miracle Wren’s surgeon had been able to acquire black market heart tissue that matched his own. Being a sawbones at an illegal clinic, Wren was able to find the beta blocker pills he required at a reasonable price.

Of course, Wren’s entire left arm was mechanical. It functioned remarkably well after nearly seven years thanks to Wren’s diligent and frequent tuning of it. Opening it up with the hydroswiss once a week, oiling the shoulder, elbow, and knuckle joints. It had become such a routine part of life; Wren sometimes envisioned how strange it would be to have a flesh-and-blood arm again.

His work complete, Wren closed up his arm and returned to greet his wife.

The pair walks side by side along the gravel pathway, surrounded by beautiful roses bushes. Upon reaching the cerulean rose bush, a prized plant in the Rose Meadow, the couple encounters a tendril of vine inching towards them. At the tip was a large blue rose. The flower blossoms open, revealing 2 hor d’oeuvres made of rose petals, cream cheese, blue berries, and basil. Ayden grabs the duo, handing the second to Katie.

“For you, m’lady,” he said with a flourish.

“Thank you!” she replies, beaming as she reaches forward and daintily eats the meal, off his hand, in a single bite.

This routine continues around the Rose Meadow. The Meadow is not exclusive to just roses, housing flowers from all around the world. The couple sampled the simple dandelions to the rare lotus buds. The private company of each other bonded the two loved ones dearly around the aromatic atmosphere.

At the end of the adventure, after the delicious carnation pudding, Ayden approaches the serious question.

“So Katie, what is the occasion?” he asks. “The Palate Garden is just not any normal restaurant we attend together.”

Katie places an index finger to her right dimple as she smiles. “Well…” she begins, cocking her head to one side. “I was thinking I could finally introduce you to daddy!”

Whoa. The big CEO of Crabapple meeting a measly tennis coach. How the hell would that go.

“Ya know. I always talk about you at home, and my dad is like, totally into meeting you!”

“Really now?” Ayden questions. What’s so interesting about him?

“Yea! Let’s like, totally go right now! He’s at the Shark Lagoon! Come on!”

Katie grabs his hand and excitedly rushes across the grass lawn. Ayden had no choice but to follow along.

Shark Lagoon is the only location in NYC that serves fresh fish. As the earth became progressively hotter, fish by the billion died. Only the fish that exist in the deepest depths remain – they never surface however. Oceans are pitifully used as the main source of water. Thank god for genetically modified bacteria that eat salt!

“Daddy!~” Katie screams as she gracefully flies through the air into the arms of her 6 feet tall father. “Nyaaa!”

“Katie, my dear” he booms. “Did you have a marvelous time at the Rose Garden?”

“Why of course Daddy! How could I not with the bestest boyfriend ever!” Katie beams. “Daddy, let me introduce you to Ayden Wyatt.”

I bow low, beyond pi radians. Adopted from the second majority of the world, Chinese, bowing is now customary worldwide. The lower you bow, the greater respect you give to the person. “It is my honor to be in the company of your daughter.”

Daddy laughs in his deep bass. “O Ayden. You do not need to bow so low. Consider me like your father, no need to be so formal.”

Ayden rises. “Thank you sir.”

“Now Ayden, I have learned that you are the youngest and only to achieve a Golden Grand slam, at the age of 20. What an amazing feat! How talented you are!”

Ayden is taken aback. The CEO of Crabapple just complimented him. Phenomenal!

“I am amazed that a person of your status can venerate an ordinary tennis player.”

“Ordinary! O no, my dear Ayden. You are nothing but ordinary. You are in fact extraordinary, beyond the limits of a human. Your talents are praised in my research and development laboratory.”

“Really? I appreciate your adoration.”

“In fact, I would love you see you in my laboratory soon, if possible.”

“Of course. Anything for Katie’s father!”

“Thank you. Guards, seize him.” Out of thin air, multiple black-armored guards emerge out of the ether and pin him down to the floor.

“Daddy! What is the meaning of this!” screams Katie and she grabs and tugs on her father’s arm. “Stop hurting him daddy!”

“It is in my company’s best interest to study his physique.”

“Sir! What are you doing! I have done nothing to harm your daughter!” Ayden yells as he struggles below his captors, to no avail.

“Indeed you have not. Been the crime you committed was being born.” Father saids with a smirk. With a small wave, the guards, and Ayden disappear without a trace.
“No!” Katie screams, with tears streaming her face. “Ayden! Ayden! Where are you!” She falls to the floor, clutching her dress. “Ayden…”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Guards burst down the door, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Trooping in, the surround the couple Wren and Liz. With large rifles cocked at their heads and chest, the troopers in unison state, “Come quietly or suffer the consequences.”