Ingolstadt

On the 1st of May 2134, his wife came to say goodbye. Spatchcocked on the private hospital bed, unruly wires and tubes grew from his jaundiced flesh. It was clear that this body was beyond repair, his cancer terminal.

He gripped her hand with all of the meagre strength left in him , and being careful not to knock against him she leaned over and planted a kiss on his cracked lips. But there was no need for anything too maudlin. For a price, a level of continuity had been assured.

Time to go. Two technicians arrived and wheeled him into the rebirthing tube. Final readings were taken. Measurements were made. The sides of the steel chamber closed over him like a rosebud flowering in reverse. He lay in blackness. And then, a static voice, drifting over the radio waves commanded him to hold his breath.

A stinking, grey, protean mass oozed into the cylinder, gradually enveloping him. His heart pounded in his chest, a second wind now gushed through him. He thrashed against metal as he felt a chlorine sting in his nostrils and a sour, greasy taste in his mouth. He was choking. Finally a growing sensation of heat, as the cast hardened.

He awoke some time afterwards. In the bed next to him, he saw a white, pale statue, a waxy homunculus. Fresh and bald . He saw that the work was good, but he knew that there was one final step of the process. To animate the copy, a transferral must be made.

There was a gradual hiss as the combustion chamber across from him fired up. The hiss became a roar.

It was of course too late to back out now. The necessary consents had all been obtained, terms and conditions read and agreed to. Unaided, he rose and walked into the flames.

Thanks to https://unsplash.com/@lightcircle for the cover image.