[Cisco City, another world and time…]

He wished he could laugh more...

Between the burning ache spreading from his chest to the labored breathing keeping him conscious, it was amazing, he thought, how one has a moment of clarity when they find themselves at death's door.

"Melanie…" he said between breaths, "…I'm sorry…I couldn't help you rest..."

Blake Whitaker, neuroscientist-turned-terrorist, plotted for a long time. He took on the name "Talbot" and, from there, built his army, drawing followers who'd deliver his messages of destruction to an AI-directed society, orchestrating cyber-attack after cyber-attack, all for the sake of killing one person. And yet here he laid, a dying old man, bleeding out from a gunshot wound, betrayed by the boy who shared the same lust for vengeance as he did.

Oh, if only he could laugh more at his folly.

Talbot took a moment to prioritize his breathing. His head tilted to the device on his arm, reaching for it with his weighed arm, dragging it across the air. He managed to press a button on it, summoning a display for him. A holographic family portrait depicting himself, a woman with short red hair, faded with age and a mini-her; same hair, only braided and off to the side.

The moment was so long ago that he couldn't remember who was responsible for the following events. Was he the one who pulled the trigger on her? Was he manipulated? Did greed overcome him? Was this attempt at retribution misguided after all?

Was there a chance he'd see them again?

Those were the questions that he had to take with him. As his arms grew numb and dropped to his sides, he leaned back against the wall and stared at the dark ceiling; wondering if he would see them. He finally surrendered to the pull and closed his eyes, allowing himself to dream the eternal dream.

...The burning grew cold soon after.