No matter how you look at it, I should have been the last person to survive the end of the world. I mean, I’m sure there's some old geezer out there already on death’s door, just waiting for a nice dream to gently drift into a final sleep. I don’t count those people though, most of them kicked the bucket as soon as the aliens showed up. I do count myself, mainly because most of the aforementioned boomers could lap me like Usain Bolt at a Children’s Hospital relay race.

  There's a big difference between growing up with something wrong with you and your body failing as you naturally age. Maybe not so much in the symptoms, but the way people treat you is vastly different. I never understood it. There was always some kind of shock and pity on people’s faces when they heard I had cancer. Even worse when someone assumed I was faking my illness because I was too young. My bad, I guess I’ll pause my cancer for five years until I’m 25. That should be easy to do right? Or should I be older? Those people exhausted me, and there was never a shortage of them.

  When I was a kid it was a bit easier to hide. I could wear hats and baggy clothing which hid the effects of the illness on my body. This time around however, it was a lot more difficult to mask the migraines crushing my skull and the black spots covering my vision. Nevermind my stump arm. It was hard to not get discouraged, but I was hopeful that my surgery would succeed in meeting the Dr.’s expectations: an extra 6 months of life expectancy, giving me one final year.

  But none of that mattered after the Graxis Invasion began.

  I still remember that morning like it was burned into my mind. I woke to the constant blare from Mr. Henderson’s TV, making the privacy curtain basically useless.

  At least that meant he was alive, although he didn’t seem like a very nice guy with how he ordered around the nurses. He was the kind to scream and yell when bothered, which was a normal occurrence as the nurses had to wake him up for check-ups. One of his favourite lines was, “you bitches aren’t even doctors!” in his weird, nasally voice that was prone to voice-cracks at any moment. Decades of smoking probably didn’t help his general discomfort.

  Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if he survived, but I try not to have those thoughts. There's too many people to consider. Too much loss, sadness, and grief. Now, survival is the only thing I constantly think about. That, and how to make those Graxis bastards pay for everyone who's died because of them.

  I ignored the pounding in my head to sit up, instantly realizing from the dryness in my mouth that I was dehydrated, making things worse. The clock over my bed read 7:53. Damn, I guess no water for me. My surgery was planned for 9:00am sharp, and I was under strict instructions not to consume any food or drink before. Which was definitely not helping the pounding migraine I had, but that was the price to living a bit more.

  Momentary pain for long term gain. I pushed my parents’ words out of my mind before taking a deep breath in. Just thinking about them made my pulse race and chest constrict, like someone had placed a heavy cat on my windpipe. To say they hadn’t been ‘understanding’ of my illness was a massive understatement. My parents were not the type to empathise with struggle. They were they type to move past anything thrown at them, and laugh in the face of hardship time and time again.

  It's pretty hard to move past cancer however, especially twice. The many doctors and therapists we went to all came to the same conclusion: I would never be able to ‘succeed’ in life the way they wanted me to. That's the funny thing. No matter how many times they heard it, they always came to me with an expensive plan or experimental surgery to try and ‘make me normal’ and ‘part of the family again’.

  I had never wanted to leave the family, but I guess that's how they see it. They had both been so busy, I had hardly seen them even when I was in remission. It had hurt a lot more at the time, but now I knew what to expect. In a shitty way, that was easier.

  What was worse than that was getting better for a moment, only for the cancer to return as I was getting my feet under me. That was 9 months ago, which means it's also been 8 months since my right arm was amputated. That changed things. When my parents came to see me, it's like their eyes didn’t acknowledge my presence at all. Their dreams for my life were finally dead. They barely said anything and left, but I don't blame them for that. They had three other children, all of which passed high school and do more than I ever have. I guess they finally gave up on me, and my brothers and sister will surely pass on the legacy that they want.

  It's hard being the useless older brother, but I couldn't help it. There's only so much you can do bedridden with little tumors growing in your arm. Unfortunately for me, the Osteosarcoma had already spread through my bloodstream up to my left eye. That was another adjustment, especially as the migraines and spots of flashing light started to appear.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  I took a look around the small area I had called home for nearly a year. It had been hard, not just from a medical perspective, but from boredom as well. My parents and siblings had only visited a handful of times, with no recent visits. I spent most days listening to the news or the gossip from the nursing station outside my ‘room’, although that got boring too after awhile. What wasn’t boring however, was hanging out with the only girl my age at the hospital, Zahra.

  When she was walking out of an appointment with her family, I noticed she had a Jurassic Park pin on her backpack. I loved sci-fi and dinosaurs, and the nostalgia from watching it with my grandpa when I was a kid always kicked in when I watched the movies. So, I asked for a box set of the movies for my birthday (which I got, my parents were always fine with shoving money at a problem) and hoped that if I saw her again, we could watch the movies together in one of our rooms. It was a desperate move, but that's exactly what I was. I’d be happy with an acquaintance, or even a wise-cracking rival like in a Pokemon game. Just anyone I could talk to that didn’t reference the government putting robots in sewers to track our poop (thanks, Mr Henderson).

  The fact she was a girl didn’t even register in my head, I just saw her as a chance for a normal conversation. I’m really glad I made that decision. When we were able to go on walks with supervision, we’d visit each other’s rooms and watch what we could together. We ended up binging the entire series, laughing and making notes on the filmmaking. She had a clear joy for life, and it was infectious to be around. I was grateful to her, not just because of how many times she's made me laugh, but the times she's saved my ass. Although, I had no idea at the time how often that would occur. Or how relevant she would become to our survival.

  It took me a long time to get up and use the bathroom, but afterwards I had a second to myself. I grabbed the little paper note Zahra had left on my bedside table a few days ago. I smiled as I unfolded and read the message again:

  “Becoming a cyborg just means we’re one step closer to real scientific progress. Like cloning body parts or other things. We could both use… an Arm and a Leg!

  Get it…? Because I don't have… and you don’t have… anyway, After our surgeries are done, lets make fun of The Meg again. Since we’re going in the same day, it's a race to see who gets better fast enough to hobble over to the other’s room! Lol.

  Good luck Levi, don’t fuck it up.

  Zahra

  While Zahra had been a fan of Jurassic Park and other ‘big animal’ movies like The Meg, she was also very into RuPaul’s Drag Race, which I had become painfully familiar with. I’ll be honest, a lot of the references fly over my head, but I love the drama. Zahra had memorized the relationship web between different Drag Queens and treated every episode like a trivia show. It made it a lot easier to follow if I’m honest. But what we watched didn’t matter, I would watch whatever she wanted. She had a way of draining the tension from the room even when she wasn’t there, making her the ideal person to binge T.V with.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the nurses who came in to start helping me get ready for the operation. It was a lot harder to get in and out of certain clothing than it used to be, so even though I was embarrassed I was grateful for the help. I had a prototype prosthetic, but I found it kind of annoying and a hassle to deal with, so most of the time I didn't wear it. I wish it would fit better, but I guess I had the rest of my life to fine-tune it.

  The rest of the morning was a blur, in a wheelchair to all the pre-screenings, and then finally getting to lie down on a gurney. It was a lot of stuff I had done a million times, so much that I was zoning out thinking about writing Zahra a note back. Ms. Koblanski was the one to ask, she was the one nurse who would wheel me around a bit after surgery to help alleviate some stress and anxiety. Maybe they could make a pitt stop on the way back to my room.

  As we moved from test to test, I saw a group of people huddled around the TV in the corner of the waiting room, seemingly oblivious to the general chaos of the hospital. I could only make out, “-vernment forces are attempting to contact the vessel, however Congress seems at an impasse on how to handle these extrateresstri-” The female anchor’s voices was cut out by the tall man who walked out to greet me.

  “Thanks for being so patient with us, Mr. Whitaker. I know the procedure must get a bit tedious.” I looked up to see the surgeon, Dr. Hekla, carrying a clipboard and preparing to enter the sanitation area. I nodded in affirmation, my lips still cracked and dry. I pushed the thought of water out of my head as they wheeled me towards the operating room. My eyes glanced around the room a final time, knowing my parents wouldn’t be there. I didn’t see anything but a familiar lanky form on her way by gurney into a separate operating room.

  Zahra was doing better than I was. She was taller, more athletic, and her family was always in to talk with her and take her out. She was stronger and recovering quicker from chemo. I could only hope that nothing bad would happen during the surgery, she was the one person who should survive this. I remember that being my last thought before they administered the anesthesia gas, staring up at the bright lights of the operating room.

  Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing that something bad was currently happening to the Earth, and it was about to get a whole lot worse. Something that would change the very course of humanity and history completely. No one would be able to escape it. Not the patients of the Jonsson Cancer Center, not the rich and famous, not even the people living in the utmost rural places or islands. No one would be safe from what was coming, and society would transform to focus and obsess over one single thing:

  The Integration of the System on planet Earth.