The last memory on the data chip held a weight to it both because it was the last one Midas had to look at, and because he knew from the first few seconds that it was actually the last memory he’d had before he’d lost them all. It was some time after his twentieth birthday, and he was sitting on a flat table wearing a surgical gown, and a small rat in his lap.
Morg.
Midas remembered that rat now.
“You’re a lot more excited than I thought you’d be,” Hesopher spoke, double checking the devices and systems for the thirtieth time. He was scared. It wasn’t even nervousness, but full on fear. And yet they were doing this anyway, because they had enough proof that it would work, and they weren’t sure how much time Midas had left. Their first experiments had been with dinner before it was cooked. Slabs of meat that still had a bone in them, injected with nanites to see if they would follow the old documents and convert the dead meat to a cyborg system without harming the tissue. The bone material was replaced with metal, and the muscle and other tissues laced with microscopic fibers to strengthen them both for health and to be able to work with the heavier bone replacements. Once they had become experienced enough with that to not have any flaws they had captured a field rat and modified their program for it. That was Morg. A healthy little rat that had so far lived a lot longer than expected for a wild rat, and was nibbling away at a cracker Midas had given him.
After Morg they had done their first terrifying test with Midas, and started with the pinky toe on his left foot. Something that wasn’t life threatening if he lost it. But they found they didn’t have to worry. The years and years that they’d put into perfecting their research had made the surgery a perfect success.
And so they had tried something else.
Midas let Morg hop back to the ground and scurry out of the room, then flexed his left hand to remind himself that this would work. His entire arm up to his elbow, and both of his legs up to his knees were already converted. The same subtle heaviness in his limbs that present day Midas was extremely familiar with weighed on those limbs. They still ached at that time, but it was just the muscles. The bone deep pain that he felt everywhere else was almost nonexistent there. It was just the blood from the rest of his corrupted skeleton he was born with that still caused him grief. But today they were going to fix that.
“I’m excited to be normal,” Midas answered, looking up to his dad with a hope filled grin, raising his hand and flexing it as well as swinging his legs slightly to emphasize his point.
Hesopher couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him at the choice of words. “You’ll hardly be what people consider normal. But… seeing you be able to run across the field and chase butterflies without ending up bedridden for a week will be nice,” he admitted, the motions from Midas reminding him that this would work, and the conversation giving him something to look forward to.
Drawing a shuddering breath to steady himself more, Hesopher brought the syringe of anesthesia over and inserted the needle in the line closer to Midas’ arm after he obediently laid down. “...Ready?” he asked quietly.
Midas could only give him a warm smile. “Yeah,” he responded softly. “Whatever happens…. Thanks for indulging my wants for so long,” he added. Even if he did end up dying, which he knew would have happened within the next year or two even if they didn’t do this, he wanted his dad to know that it wasn’t his dad’s fault. Midas wanted to take full responsibility for whatever happened, but didn’t want to somehow jinx the surgery now by voicing the possibility that it could kill him. So instead he just thanked his dad for always being there for him, and going along with all of his needs and wants.
Hesopher seemed to understand, his eyes stinging and blurring with tears as he rested a hand on Midas’ cheek fondly. “... I love you. My little Midas,” he responded. That was enough. He would have plenty of time to speak to him longer once he woke up again.
Midas’ smile just grew to show teeth, and he rested his hand over the top of his dad’s. “I love you too dad. You…” he stopped himself there. Those words could be said later. So instead he just grinned again. “I’ll see you when I wake up,” he bid, lowering his hand back into position.
“...See you when you wake,” Hesopher agreed, squeezing the syringe that caused his son to fall into a dreamless sleep.
All of the memories from the data chip settled in Midas’ mind like a heavy blanket of warmth as understanding flooded his mind along with them. So many of the questions he’d had were explained now; even questions he hadn’t realized would have an answer. He didn’t know how to interact with people because he hadn’t grown up with much interaction outside of a few. He didn’t know how to tell when he was sick because he didn’t know what it was like to be healthy. Sick felt normal. Pain, and fatigue had been his every day. He knew so much about programs, and machines, because that had been his escape from the prison his physical body had felt like. And throughout it all his dad had been there, holding him tight when it all became too much. Gently following on with his crazy, childish ideas that strangely were what he needed.
And yet he hadn’t followed through with his last promise. He hadn’t been with his dad when he’d woken up, as though it were something that was his fault.
Blinking his eyes open, Midas looked up from where he was kneeling in the flower fields Hesopher had mentioned finally being able to see him run through, looking his father in the eyes that quickly became blurred.
It was easy to see the change in Midas’ expression when he looked at him now. Midas was still his son regardless of if he remembered him or not, but having his little boy looking up at him with such a familiar expression caused Hesopher to choke on fresh tears. “...Good morning,” he said softly, thinking back to the last conversation he’d had with his son.
Midas’s form shuddered with a weak laugh mixed with a sob. It was hard to find breath to speak, especially when he pushed himself to his feet again while rubbing his eyes. “It worked,” he responded, voice muffled through his tear closed throat. Forcing himself to take a deeper breath so he could speak more clearly, Midas gave up trying to rub the water from his eyes and looked to Hesopher. “It doesn’t hurt, Dad.”
It was Hesopher’s turn to let out a choked laugh, just a small huff as bittersweet relief washed over him because of those simple words. Yet Midas’ smile faded as he couldn’t keep from sobbing harder, suddenly stumbling forward while sliding his arms around Hesopher’s torso in the tightest hug he’d ever felt from his son.
“Daddy it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Midas’ sobbed confirmation that those eight years of painstaking testing, sleepless nights, and smothering fear had succeeded to free him from his life of pain trapped to a hospital bed by plastic vines broke the iron weight that had been sitting in Hesopher’s heart for the past three years. He hadn’t heard Midas call him daddy since he was a smaller child, but it seemed to fit. There he was. His perfectly healthy little boy sobbing in his arms, and making every tear Hesopher had shed alone before today worth it a thousand times over. It was hard for either of them to say anything more, and Hesopher didn’t care that Midas’ now above human strength was making it just a little hard to breathe. The most cherished thing he’d ever had in his life aside from his wife was now back where he could hold him, and he wasn’t going to let go.
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First
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aaaand there's all of Midas' backstory ;v; I cried a lil writing that last part.
now I just have to figure out how to wrap everything up at least somewhat coherently ._.