"Why?" I'm sick of this banker's lip. "I'm riddled with cancer. I need my money for treatment."

"There's no reason to be upset, sir," The clean looking banker wears a name tag displaying 'Casey'. As always, he attempts to maintain a professional tone. "This is a joint bank account. I'm supposed to ask why you need to withdrawal 90,000 dollars."

"This is my money and I need it for my inoperable tumor."

"What sort of treatment costs 90,000 dollars?"

If I had known withdrawing the money inside would cause so much trouble for me, I would have used the ATM. I consider the best combination of words to get this teller to give me my cash.

"They're going to take both of my legs and left lung, so the surgery and recovery are quite expensive," Casey looks slack jawed and with glazed eyes. "I need the money today if I want a chance to beat this thing."

Success! I walk towards my car with a bag of cash dangling from my left hand. I throw it into the glove box and start my drive home. I haven't had a chance to pull into the driveway before I've got a call for Karen. She's upset that I nearly drained all of our savings, but I convince her to meet me at home where I explain myself.

Modern medicine cannot treat my illness. In less than a month I will be dead. Aggressive surgeries can perhaps post-pone my life for a couple more months at best. My only chance is to accept death and live as comfortably as possible in the mean time.

Full body cryonics cost nearly $200,000. Having your dismembered head frozen costs a cool 90k. My best bet is placing my money into a 'wildcard' category. I'm dead no matter what, but there's at least a 5% possibility humanity progresses to the point to reverse the damage done to my brain through the freezing process and place it into a new body.

It is hard to convince Karen at first, but after telling her of my newly discovered, untreatable bone cancer, she begrudgingly allows me to keep her half of the savings.

In my death bed, I tell my family 'do not pity me. Death comes to all. I will know shortly whether or not freezing my brain pays off. The wait will not be very long for me--' I am perhaps halfway through my final words that I wrote a week prior when I die. I never truly get to experience death. I feel nothing. Suddenly I am somewhere else.

"This one is named 'Gary Adermson', or something of the like," I decide that this man has the strangest accent I have ever heard in my life. "Ship him off for 'Oddy Onealsons' half hour special." He looks human enough, but his strange clothing and accent make me feel very odd. I feel almost homesick.

"My name is Gerard Patters," Neither of the men say or do anything in response. "What year is it?" I ask.

"It's 4025," he responds. "What year was it when you left?"

"2015," I say. It takes me a short time to collect myself. "I can't believe it took that long to bring me back. I thought humanity would progress quicker."

The man looks suddenly bored. "Ok, Gary. Sign this here." The pen feels cool in my hand. It writes smoothly as I scribble my signature in.

"I'm Gerard," I remind him. "What's this for?" I ask.

"Okay, bring him over." I'm signaled to be moved down a long hallway. The craft hovers me quickly down the hall. It makes a beeping noise in front of a door that disappears into the ceiling. Suddenly I am sitting hunched over in front of a studio audience. A tan looking man with cat eyes claps excitedly with the crowd. My hovercraft's lower so that he is looking down upon me. The audience is a sea of smiling, cheering faces.

"Good morning, good morning, good morning!" he yells to the crowd, who repeats his words. "Today we have a very special guest, his name is 'Gary Anderson, and he hails from the early years of the 2,230th century!' The crowd makes general impressed noises.

"My name is Gary," I say, voice cracking. "I'm from 2015." The crowd is suddenly screaming in laughter. The host raises a hand to cover his mouth and giggles.

"How can this be true if the means to freeze yourself weren't invented until the year 2103?"

"No, that's not true!"

"How can you be sure anything you believe is true?" asks the host, grinning a large, perfectly straight and white grin. "Placing your thoughts and memories into a new body is no simple task, Gerald."

"New body?" My limbs still feel numb but I raise my hands in front of my face. They are whiter than winter, without freckles, hair, or any pigment whatsoever. It looks eerily like white plastic. "You put my brain into this? I liked being Mexican. You took away my character."

The crowd isn't sure how to respond to that. Some laugh nervously. Others sit silently with single, raised brow.

"Your brain went out with the rest, chump," the crowd is suddenly back to laughing. "Your thoughts and memories were transferred to this body, so humanity can learn about the past. It's not meant to last longer than a month."

"What, my body?"

"Is property of Oddy Onealsons," He gestures to the grand, bright sign. I rescued your cranium from an ancient storage facility and brought you here for all these nice, wonderful people!"

"These people are awful! I'm tired, confused, and they're laughing at my misery." The crowd boos and jeers at me. "Fuck you!"

"Oh my," The host makes a signal and suddenly my hovercraft is whooshing me back towards the door. "You signed a paper, Gary! You're in big trouble!"

The man from earlier with the strange accent gives me a sad, disapproving head shake. "You really messed up, man," from his belt he retrieves a scanner type device. "This body was meant to last you a month but now I have to deactivate you."

"Deactivate me?" My legs are still too numb to run away. "I didn't do anything!"

"You swore in front of Oddy himself. That's illegal!"

"That was Oddy?" The man raises a single eyebrow than scans a section of my chest. The device makes some beeping noises. I never truly get to experience death. I feel nothing. Suddenly I am somewhere else.