Jin sat waiting, silent and still, as the full-brain digital back-up neared completion.
Above him, the consciousness scanner buzzed quietly, reading every memory, mapping every neuron, preparing to create a cloud-bound digital self.
The process of bestowing an immortal digital life on humans was expected to take about half an hour. To pass the time, Jin looked out of the window.
The first thing that caught his eye was not anything outside the window, but his own reflection. The white hair, weathered by time, framed his face like a reminder etched in silver. It spoke, wordlessly, of his age — and the fear of death that had brought him here.
Suspended above his head, the halo-like scanning ring evoked an old memory: the first time he got a perm as a teenager. Jin remembered the feeling of the heat coils, the nervous shuffling in the salon chair, the ring-shaped machine resting awkwardly on his scalp.
His best friend had walked with him out of the salon, grinning and teasing: “Look at us! Curly-haired punks now!”
But the laughter didn’t last. The war came, sudden and brutal. Both were conscripted, yet only one returned.
That faithful friend died still a boy.
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As he lay dying, bloodied and fading, the boy grasped Jin’s hand with all his strength, murmuring, “Live well. Live happy. For my share, too.”
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