"Is it on? Is it recording? I hate doing this."

"It's on, sir."

The first voice was unmistakably that of Dad. It was softer, though. On the phone, he had sounded gravelled. Older. Tired. On the tape, the man had yet, it seemed, to face the trials his actions forced upon him. Or that he forced upon Ryan and others like him. The fact he was listening to a cassette, rather than anything digital, showed the age of the recording, so perhaps – and hopefully – Bradley Sr. was feeling oppressed by life. He didn't deserve to be carefree.

Whose was the other voice? It wasn't one Ryan recognised, though that wasn't surprising. He'd only met a few of Bradley Sr's employees. For an undertaking of this enormity, there'd have to be a great many more. Any one of them could be the second person.

Well, not any. It wasn't Pedra or the Doc. It didn't sound like Jarvis and couldn't be Kravitz. That was only four, so it didn't narrow it down. Besides, it didn't matter, really. Anyone outside of those he'd encountered were just extras in a movie and, as such, were expendable. He imagined them all wearing red shirts, which, according to Star Trek, meant their death was imminent. Perhaps it was, and perhaps he was the one to bring it about. They may well have families and children and pet dogs that went to sleep tucked into their thighs on the sofa, while bring unconsciously stroked. Who gave a fuck? As innocent as they might be outside of work, they were as culpable as both Bradleys inside. They would know what was being done to his fellow captives who were, hopefully, in the process of escaping.

So, they were guilty. Every single one.

Bradley Sr cleared his throat uncomfortably. There was a rattle to his cough as if phlegm had settled in his throat and his cough was struggling to clear it.

"Are you OK to continue, sir?"

"Yes, Emily. I'm fine. Just a cold or something. I catch everything, nowadays. Fucking immune system. Don't grow old or get cancer, you hear me?"

"I'll do my best sir."

"Well, hopefully, I can help you with that."

"I have no doubts, Dr Bradley. We're too close to not succeed."

"Thank you, Emily. Your faith is inspiring."

So, Emily was decidedly in the Bradley gang. If she was still around and he met her, he'd have to be careful. Or brutal.

He wasn't a killer, he knew that. He could tell. He had a calm interior, though that could be because it was so empty in there. He didn't think so, however. Thoughts of murder and death were a result of the casual manner Bradley, Bradley and Co. treated life. Ryan believed he wasn't even a violent man, let alone one prone to murder. That didn't mean he wouldn't defend himself. It didn't mean he wouldn't strike back if provoked.

So, could he be brutal? He'd already proven to himself he was able to rise to a situation demanding of a darker side. He was becoming somebody else. Whether he liked it or not, it was a necessary transformation. He hoped it was something he could control or guide, otherwise he'd be no better than those who had stolen him from... before.

Perhaps, he would still like himself when all this was over.

Perhaps, he'd still be in a position to have feelings about himself either way.

The conversation on the tape had continued while his thoughts had drifted. Shit! What had he missed? He was about to rewind the tape when Bradley said:

"Right, let's get on with it."

Small talk was the saviour of the wandering thought.

"Sir," said Emily. "For the benefit of the listeners, can you introduce yourself?"

"Of course. Hello, I'm Professor Ian Bradley."

"Thank you, sir. And what is it you do?"

"I can... or I can try. It's not exactly straight forward. Apart from administrating our project here, I am also on the board of directors for three large hospital trusts. In particular, I deal with terminal illnesses that are currently incurable."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Well, cancers. Motor Neurone. Parkinson's and dementia and diabetes and stroke and so on."

"Diabetes, sir?"

"Yes. It's not simply something minor that can be eased by a chocolate bar. It can be debilitating and lead to so many other problems. And it can result in death."

"I had no..."

"And that's what drew my interest. People genuinely have no clue about how the body really works. Even those of us in roles similar to my own only know a small percentage. It's like the world's oceans. Only a fifth have been explored or mapped. With the Human body, it's less. We are a wondrous, self-sustaining machine, but we break down more times than we would like to admit."

"I didn't think of it like that, sir. I believe our listeners won't have either."

"I'm sure you're right, Emily. Many like me, at my level of expertise, see themselves as gods. They can fix the tiniest bleed in the deepest part of the brain, resulting in the patient continuing to lead their normal lives. The brain, Emily. It is infinitely more complex than we can conceive, yet we are arrogant about our knowledge. The heart, too. It beats up to two and a half billion times in the average person's lifetime. Not that any lifetime is average, but do you see? That's a phenomenal number. How can anyone not be in awe of it?"

"Yes, sir. It's very impressive."

Emily sounded sincere and Ryan could understand why. He wasn't falling under Bradley's spell, but the man wasn't wrong. Life, not just that of humans, was, indeed, miraculous. Whether the construct of an omnipotent deity or an accident of cells bumping into each other and going hey, let's see what we can make, life was a marvel.

"Impressive?" Bradley snorted. "Juggling oranges is impressive. Being able to say the alphabet backwards is impressive. They're also useless. This is so much more."

"Yes, of course, sir. I was just... I mean..."

Dad laughed.

"Don't worry, Emily. This is exactly why I wanted to become the best in my field. In so many fields, actually."

"Well, you certainly managed that, Dr Bradley."

"Thank you, Emily. Oh, and my daughter is Dr Bradley. Just call me Sir or Mighty One."

"Erm.."

Another laugh.

"Ian. My name is Ian. I don't even like 'Sir.' I'm not a school teacher. Just call me Ian."

"But..."

"I insist. I don't have time for formalities. I care for them even less."

"Thank you, sir. I mean Ian."

"Better. Now, continue."

"Yes, of course. Now, where are we?"

"We are at the Bradley Institute. It sounds megalomaniacal to call it after myself, I know. Blame Fiona. It's actually named after her, rather than me."

"I didn't know that, sir."

"Ian."

"Ian. Can you tell me what the Bradley Institute does?"

"I can. We save people."

"And who is it you save?"

"Everyone, my dear. We save everyone, regardless of who they are and what might be wrong with them."

"That's a bold statement, S... Ian. How do you do that?"

"What do you do to make an omelette, Emily?"

"Pardon?"

"You break eggs, my girl. You break eggs. I'm not proud, but those eggs are needed to be broken. To be smashed into a million pieces over and over again."

"When the outcome is so wonderful, I agree. Without you, we wouldn't have..."

"Cycling, Emily. Please, we want to leave some surprised for our listeners. Let's just say we wouldn't have Cycling."

Cycling. It sounded so mundane when he said it. He could have been a personal trainer trying to coax the listeners, with Ryan not being one of the intended few, up on two wheels and getting their miles in. A little cardio, friends, to get the heart rate going.

Before we rip it out.

"Yes, sir. Cycling. It's an astonishing concept, and you've... brought it to life."

"Oh, very good, Emily. Very good."

"Thank you." A light giggle. "Now, Cycling is one thing, but you have gone beyond that. You're so close to achieving your goal. You must be incredibly proud!"

"I am proud, my dear. But not of me. I couldn't have done any of this without the help and support of my daughter and our wider family at the Institute. I'm not the only one to suffer. This is why I have such a dedicated team. They've lived through it. They understand."

"And what is that, Ian?"

"That without death, we can't have life. Death gives us the opportunity and impetus to learn. To experiment. To grow. But, once we have life, do we actually need it?"

"What do you mean? Isn't death a natural part of life? Aren't they... like... symbiotic?"

"Not at all. Death is the decay of life. If we have a car and something fails, we replace it. We can do that, to a certain extent, with our bodies, but only so far. We're not Trigger's Brooms. We can't replace the brain, for example."

"No, because it's too complex. And... Trigger's...?"

"The complexity is irrelevant. We're an insanely intelligent species, and there are few things beyond us. Those that still are, are puzzles for another age. We'll get there, at some point."

"But... still. The brain..?"

"Is the container for our memories. The font of our emotions. The regulator of our autonomic functions. It is far more than the sum of its parts, and it is that that we're unable to reproduce, at least currently."

"I see. So, where do you come in?"

"I, my dear, at the risk of sounding pretentious, am going to remove decay from the equation."

"And, what with that do?"

"I'm taking this in stages, rather than simply diving in like some I know would. I'm not reckless. But the intended goals are, first, to remove disease and, second, to remove death."

"Do you mean immortality? Is that possible?"

"My dear, I'm merely a man. I can only try."

"Of course, sir. I understand, and..."

"Fuck it, Emily. Yes. Yes indeed! I'm going to create or release, however you want to see it, immor-fucking-tality."

Emily laughed, and Ian laughed with her.