Thursday, 28 April

At 9:02 the next morning, Waylon texted Monty to let him know he'd arrived, so they might go to Serum. Monty headed outside in trepidation, approaching the vehicle that had just landed.

The car's door opened, Waylon grinning from within. "Good morning."

"Mm... hello." Monty yawned, settling into the passenger seat, while Waylon started the engine.

"How are you?"

"Tired," Monty said, "but otherwise fine." He blinked at Waylon. "I haven't eaten anything, either, besides coffee..." ... with which he'd experienced the same issue as on Tuesday. "You'd said..."

"Yeah." Waylon extracted a translucent box and tugged the lid off. "I made oatmeal bars. I think they're good." He offered the selection to Monty, who peered into it, taking one between his thumb and index finger. They looked like rectangular cookies.
"Is there anything in them besides oatmeal?" Monty bit into it. The bar was chewy and mildly sweet. "It's good."

"Ah, cranberries and white chocolate," Waylon said, "thank you."

Monty finished his piece and was tempted to take more, but only ate another half. Waylon offered him some water to go along with it.

Once they were in the air, Waylon turned to him, hitting cruise control. "Hey, er, about yesterday-"

"What about yesterday?" Monty frowned. His takeaway had been that he wanted more of Waylon's touch, for reasons he wasn't sure of. Perhaps it was his loneliness.

"It's just..." Waylon sighed, "it wasn't the best time to have that conversation, while I was still with my friend. I know you said you were just confused... I didn't understand why you cared if I were on a date or not, though- I wasn't- I wanted to make sure there's not anything else you needed to tell me."

This again? "Not anything pressing..." Nothing I can tell you. "...No, I... I don't care if you were on a date, I said so. I was confused because to me it appeared to be a date, when you'd said it wasn't going to be."

"Yeah, but... even so..."

Monty put his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Waylon gave him a small smile. "I don't want that to come between us. Let me know, though, if there's anything bothering you that I could help with."

"I'll try." No promises. He was already carrying many lies under his belt, hiding truths that were less believable than their counterpart falsehoods. "Are we close?" Monty gazed outside, pinpointing anything that looked like a floating landmass, tilting his head up.

"To Serum? Yeah." Waylon gestured to the navigation control screen hanging between them. "Just a bit higher..."

Beyond a few clouds, and there was his first unobscured view of Serum, a reflective multi-storey building with its logo down the side. A frontal faction of the structure jutted out, with a trapezoidal roof, much like the shape of Monty's at his house. There was a large garden structure, as well; Monty would venture to call it a small forest, florae platforms layered with stairs. It led up from the lower walkway that went into the main area with the conspicuous roof. On the other side of the building was a car park.

Waylon nosedived towards a security gate, slowing down, glancing at Monty. "I can't believe I'm here, it's... incredible," he said.

Monty just nodded, staring out the window.

The security guard seemed surprised to see Monty, which made sense, if he didn't come here frequently. "Welcome back, Mr Burns," she said, after verifying their identities via some retina scan.

"Yes... thank you."

After the checkpoint, they were inside. Monty couldn't fathom the physics of the complex, how it was that entire buildings could sustain floating in the air. But he couldn't let his amazement be too obvious. It wouldn't make sense to the reality's perception of him. After all, he was supposed to be well-versed with the nature of his own company. People might ask questions to which he didn't have answers. Waylon's open awe and excitement at the structure was acceptable, on the other hand, and Monty tried to channel his own feelings through Waylon's.

Leaving the car park, they walked around the complex, employees standing out of their way, watching Monty- and Waylon- curiously. He couldn't tell which were assistants, if any.

"Excuse me..." A man with greying blond hair and blue clothing addressed them while they were on one of the garden platforms. He eyed Waylon. "Good morning, Mr Burns, sir."

"Oh... yes..." Monty examined him, trying to find a name indicator. He should have known people would try to talk to him up here.

"And you... are you related to the late Mr Smithers, if I may ask?" the man questioned Waylon, steering his feet that way.

Waylon nodded. "I'm his son, also Waylon Smithers."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Smithers! I'm Riad, I run our marketing division. I spoke with your father sometimes, mostly in meetings..."
"You, er, have been here a while, then?" Waylon asked.

"I was here during the early years, and I left, and came back. Mm-hm." Riad stepped to the side, leaning his weight on one leg. "And you're almost Mr Smithers' exact image... like I said, I spoke with him sometimes... But of course, no-one knows more about him than Mr Burns." Riad gestured towards Monty.

Monty crossed his arms. He felt put on the spot by this Riad person.

"Yes," Waylon agreed, before Monty had to think of something to say, "I know. Mr Burns has told me many things." He glanced at Monty. "Er... it's nice to meet you, Riad..."
Riad flicked open the phone on his wrist, one like Waylon's. "Yes," he said, "I've got to go, now..." He smiled, and nodded at them both, then dashed away down the nearest stairs.

"One of your employees," Waylon remarked.

"Hm..." Monty poked at a flower hanging by his sleeve.

"I didn't consider they'd want to talk to me... but I understand why, since I look like him, and especially if they were here while he was..."

"It's expected... I hadn't considered it, though." Would it happen again? Or would someone try to engage Monty in a bewildering conversation?

"...But you're the only one who I'd want to talk with about my dad. That matters more to me than what someone else might have to say, really. I like listening to you, in anything we talk of."

Monty looked up, and Waylon blushed, but smiled, and warmth cascaded in Monty's chest. Though, at the same time, Waylon couldn't know that Monty had told him stories that were somewhat false- not done out of malice, but on account of not knowing what else to do when prompted. Rather, they were true, but based in a different reality. But he couldn't reveal that now.

"I... I wouldn't say I'm the supreme authority on Waylon Sr," he tried, "and I forget the details of our escapades, sometimes..."

"Don't worry about it..." Waylon grazed Monty's shoulder. "I appreciate that you shared with me as much as you did."

"I did my best." Monty pivoted on the ground, regarded the side of the Serum building. He didn't want to take this talking point further. "So, shall we head in?"

()

Inside the ground level atrium, hung on a wall, were portraits of both Monty and Waylon Sr. They spent a minute in front of the portraits, Waylon gazing at his father's likeness. Monty read an infographic on a screen below the portraits, which said that after Waylon Sr's accidental death in 2100, any and all of his research on the drug that hadn't already been released was such to the company as a posthumous request.

Upon reading it himself, Waylon asked, "Did he leave you anything like that? Since you were his co-founder."
"Like what? Oh..." Monty tapped his chin once. "Waylon Sr bequeathed you and your mother some... wealth, yes?" Surely, an amount of the profit from Serum had gone to its primary inventor... though, if Waylon were wealthy, he didn't show it.

Waylon pursed his lips. "He entrusted some units to the family, yes, but I think he invested in the company, also, and his own research, and in social projects..."

"So, what would he have left for me? And what did he for you?"

"I don't know, I guess something more personal than his research files... He left some stuff for my mom and me, but it has nothing to do with Serum."

"Oh... er..." Now Monty was curious. Was there something in that house of his, or perhaps digital files, that Waylon Sr had left for him or given to him when he was alive? If so, what?

"He left us a bunch of videos and journal entries on a drive," Waylon continued, his eyes wet, "and some physical stuff too, like books. None of it that I've seen had to do with Serum or you."

"Are these things you have at your apartment?"

"A few, yeah. I could show you the next time you're there. The digital files on my computer. My mom has most of the books."

The next time you're there? "And who says I'm coming over again?" Monty smirked, crossing his arms.

Waylon reddened. "Uh... well, I guess I assumed you might want to- oh, you're joking." He chuckled. "That's good, you almost got me."

Monty smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

()

They took the lift up to Monty's office, accessed via retinal scanning and a special indicator called Executive Office.

"Wow," Waylon said as they went inside, "so you really don't come here often? It's a great space."

Monty nodded. It was a large space, too, surrounded by walls of glass sectioned by yellow panels accenting the bare sunlight filtered through the walls. It was almost... as if more than one person should have occupied it. He swallowed, apprehensive, and stepped in further.

"Why... why are there two desks?"

Monty didn't have an answer to that either. Rather, one was creeping up on him, and he trembled. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

"Hey..." Waylon had approached one of the desks, its surface mostly empty. "If this one is yours..." He pointed to a plaque with Monty's name, "then..." He went to examine the other one.

"What is it?"

"Oh..." Waylon's voice was hollow, "Monty, why didn't you tell me?"

"T-tell you what?" Monty clamped his hands together and followed. Displayed on the desk were various mementos and devices, pieces of paper, even, scattered as if the owner of the desk had just left them there. When Monty went to touch one device, though, that seemed to be a computer, his hand went through it. An imitation, then, in a hologram, every single one. He supposed the real counterparts of these objects were either lost, gone, or had been archived/preserved somewhere.

In silence, Waylon gestured to the plaque, in the same style as the one on Monty's desk. Waylon J. Smithers. Below that, a newer sign: Desk preserved at behest of his friend and co-founder C. Montgomery Burns, 21 July 2100. May his spirit of innovation live on.

Monty glanced from the plaque to the holographically arranged objects on top of the desk, imagining a time when it had all been real. He didn't even have any memories of this, and yet, it still touched him. He moved his gaze to his own desk nearby, envisioning himself and Waylon Sr working side by side, much as they had at the power plant.

He blinked, trying to swallow the cinderblock in his throat. He reached out and traced the letters on Waylon Sr's name plate, tears rolling down his cheeks. In either world, he had perished, and apparently Monty's wounds hadn't yet healed.

In the old world, he'd lost both Waylon Sr and Junior to horrible accidents, and now he was grieving thrice over.

A sniff beside him made Monty turn his head. Waylon had sunk to the floor, sobbing quietly, hiding his head with his hands.

"Waylon?" Monty touched his shoulder.

"What...?" Waylon lifted his gaze. "I'm sorry..." He sniffed again, his eyes red. "I... it's just... I didn't expect this..."

"I know." I didn't either. "I... I haven't been here in so long that I almost forgot about it," he said, hoping that was plausible.

"This is where it all happened, I guess," Waylon said, "you and him in here, running the world..." He produced a tissue and wiped his eyes and nose, then ran it through a metallic sleeve, the tissue coming out the other end clean. Waylon placed it back in his bag. What an interesting, though dull, mode of tissue.

"Maybe we should leave." Waylon looked about. "Is that a balcony?"

Among the glass walls of the office was a vista of the sky and a few floating islands from a balcony with a curving wrought-iron rail. The balcony was in front of what seemed like just more glass, but it was a different type, and larger across, separated from the glass walls by a thin white strip of opaque wall. Beside it was a small touchscreen. "Er, yes..."

"Do you... mind if I go out there for a minute?" Waylon leaned forward to examine the touchscreen. "This says current air conditions are safe to open it."

"Go ahead." Monty hesitated and added, "I'll come with you."

The panel slid open with a click. Monty braced himself, having never been on a balcony so high in the air before. But it was more tolerable than he would have thought, even pleasant. The rail upon closer inspection was not wrought iron but some smoother material. If he glanced down over it, he only saw the 'ground' of the island and didn't become nauseous or dizzy despite being a few miles above the earth. Still, he stepped back, taking a seat next to Waylon on one of the balcony's two chairs.

Waylon had closed his eyes, his face stained in the sun with tears. But a small smile arrived at his lips, and he turned to Monty. "It's nice out here."

"Mm." Monty sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Neither of us knew about the desk and the plaque, right? It's not your fault."
Waylon was right, but Monty felt a little guilty anyway. He shouldn't have, but when Waylon was sobbing, a trickle of regret had slipped through his defences among his own renewed grief.

Monty reached towards the other chair and placed his hand atop Waylon's, Waylon regarding him in surprise. "Are... are you alright?" Monty asked.

Waylon's cheeks bloomed with pink. "I'm better, now. Thank you." He took a deep breath. "I... I'm really glad we're here together."

"I am too." Monty patted Waylon's hand and withdrew his own.

"And this will sound weird, but..." Waylon shifted his legs, "I feel like I've known you for a long time, that I can trust you, even though we just met a few days ago."

If only he knew. Though the fact Waylon felt that way was intriguing... Waylon in this world had never met Monty before. "What do you mean?"

Waylon seemed pensive. "Maybe it's because you were close friends with my dad? I don't know. In these three days I've felt as if you and I have been close friends, too... it doesn't make a lot of sense. It's not like I know anything about you besides what I've learned from our conversations, but I've had kind of... déjà vu moments..." He scratched his neck. Monty looked at the ever-present scar, blighting Waylon's skin like a tree branch. "It's a little confusing. Although I have intuitions rather than any specific knowledge."

Monty nodded. "I see."

"Sorry, it's kind of a lot of information."
"No, no, I understand."

"Have you... had the same experiences?"

"Not exactly. But I understand what you're describing," Monty told him. He wondered if there would come a time when he could tell Waylon the truth. He supposed there might have to; Monty didn't think he could keep up the ruse forever. That was, if he were here permanently...

"I was sort of afraid you'd think it was nonsense. But... thank you." Waylon pulled his bag onto his lap and rummaged in it. "Er, I was going to have another one of the bars... do you want to split it? Unless you'd want your own."

"That's alright; I'll take half."

Waylon opened the box of oatmeal bars again, broke one in two, and handed Monty the nearer piece. They ate in silence, Monty taking nibbles of his half. He stared ahead at the sky, watching the clouds and distant islands, a few birds. The noises of the ground below Serum were imperceptible from up here.

He looked at Waylon, who drummed his fingers on the box, holding a sliver of the bar in one hand, fixated on the lid. Monty suspected that in mind he was somewhere else.

"Waylon," he said, quietly, after a few minutes, tapping Waylon's shoulder.

"Huh? Oh..." Waylon packed away the box, standing up with his bag slung across his chest. "Sorry. I was thinking."

Monty followed him back inside. "What about?"

"First... are you okay if we leave?"

"Yes." They headed to the lift. "So...?"

"Just... my dad, and wishing I'd known him..." Waylon sniffed, "and about his life, and you..."
"Me?"

"You were a big part of his life... but I was thinking about you otherwise, too," Waylon admitted, "how I feel really... comfortable around you already, enough to tell you this stuff." He shrugged. "I wouldn't have shared if I didn't feel that way."

Monty nodded, the lift opening on the ground floor. "I see." He smiled, finding Waylon's eyes. "I feel similarly, actually."

Waylon blushed. "That's even better."

They returned to Waylon's car, Monty remembering he'd probably have to go back to his house now. Waylon had said he'd things to do.
"So er..." Waylon said now, "you can come over some time to look at the stuff I was telling you about, from my dad."

"Oh, er..." Monty thought. If today wouldn't work, Friday, tomorrow, might be too close, even though he wanted to say Friday... "Saturday?"

Waylon blinked. "Yeah, why don't you come on Saturday morning...? Eleven, maybe?"

"Eleven is fine." Monty's seatbelt looped itself over him.

Waylon throttled the engine of the car into the sky lanes. "Great, I'll see you then." Monty watched the Serum complex disappear behind them, becoming smaller and smaller still. "Mm."

Back on the ground and inside his house, alone, Monty walked about, pulling open drawers and tapping fastidiously on instruments, in search of what Waylon Sr could have left for him. If they'd been close here as they'd been in Monty's old life, then he would expect something.

Wandering the hall near his bedroom, Monty stumbled into a home office, where windows adorned two of the four walls. On a desk was a computer, at least what Monty identified as a computer, with what he thought was a keyboard. It had a physical monitor foundation, but he could view multiple expanded screens at once. Currently there was only one central lock screen, prompting a password. Glancing at the keyboard, he didn't know what his password could be, but fortunately the computer accepted a fingerprint confirmation, and it unlocked.

Monty sat down in front of the device as two other screens slid out from the centre. In front of the computer and the keyboard on the table was a stylus and tablet surface. He picked up the stylus, holding it like a pen, and watched as it made a cursor on the screens move. It even served as a writing utensil, if he held the pen to the tablet. Beside the stylus and tablet was a pad acting as a computer mouse. Monty searched over the desktop, reading names of files. He used the mouse to open some, and then opened the system file navigator.

Monty scanned the list, narrowing his eyes. Hesitant, he clicked on a folder labelled WSSR Tapes; 2082-2090. That had to be Waylon Smithers, Sr.

The first file, categorised as a video, was called 0-1: Start here.

Following instructions, Monty tapped on the file with the cursor, his heart hammering away. A window of a video application opened. Monty waited, and then his hand flitted to his mouth as Waylon Sr materialised. Monty recognised him instantly, both from his memory and from the portrait that had been in Serum.

On the screen, Waylon Sr cleared his throat, stepping back, folding his hands. "Hello, Monty. It's 12:30 on the 31st of August 2090. This is just a brief on the recordings I made for you. Though, in fact, some of them are copies that have been distributed to the committee and to the company. I thought it might interest you to see your progression with the drug over the two years you took it. Those videos are the copies. I also included a few more personal videos, which are not copies. There's approximately 60 hours of footage I've compiled for you, so take your time going through it."

Sixty hours?

Monty would heed Waylon Sr's advice and watch the footage in small doses. It would be strange to watch himself in this world progress through the reverse-ageing drug, which he had no memories of. Here he would be witnessing the source through a recording.

What intrigued him, too, were those 'personal' videos... non-Serum related content, he assumed. Things more intimate and informal in subject. In any case, it made Monty curious.

The next video file in procession after the introduction was dated 14th May 2082, CMB Interview 1. Monty tapped on it and leaned forward, anxious.

Waylon Sr wasn't on the screen. Instead, there was an older man sat at a table, hands under his chin. Monty swallowed, recognising himself, though he'd never looked exactly like that in the old world.

"State your name, please," came Waylon Sr's voice.

Video Monty sighed. "C. Montgomery Burns."

"Birthday?"

"The fifteenth of September 2009." Video Monty looked to the left, seeming distracted.

"And your age?"
"...Seventy-two..." Video Monty rolled his eyes. "Waylon-"

"Mr Burns has agreed to be the first subject to undergo an entire treatment of the drug, a process that will last approximately two years."

Video Monty nodded proudly.

The screen changed to show Waylon Sr at the same table, with a few open, extended holographs next to him. "In the best possible scenario, Mr Burns will have attained the physicality of his body around his late thirties. He will thereafter age forward, but at an exponentially slowed rate. However, this reverse-ageing drug is not limitless and after these two years, Mr Burns' body will react negatively to any further dosages. That being said, I am optimistic for the future of the drug, which I have named, tentatively, Serum." Waylon Sr folded his hands, and the video ended.

Impatient, Monty scrolled ahead in the video log to those from 2084, going to May, two years after the very first interview. He opened one from 26th May 2084, titled CMB Interview 118.

Again, it opened on Monty, appearing more familiar, his hair full and brown as it was now, though shorter. Video Monty tapped his nails on the same table from before.

"This is the final interview with Mr Burns after two successful years of administering Serum," said Waylon Sr off-camera, "Mr Burns, do you believe you've witnessed any outstanding side effects from your dosage?"
"Not any that I've not already told you about, though I've never experienced anything particularly harmful, over the time I've taken it."
The video cut to Waylon Sr. "Presently there have been other trials, administered by my team, as Mr Burns' case has shown more and more successes. Please refer to the other recordings for those testimonies."

Who had these videos been meant for? Waylon Sr had been trying for the approval of someone... perhaps a board of scientists? He didn't need funding; Monty had taken care of that...

Monty paused the video and pulled out his phone to check Serum's information page. Apparently, the drug had been certified by federal and then international boards of scientists for mainstream distribution and approval in 2087, after deliberate and careful evaluation.

Having his answer, Monty resumed the video. Waylon Sr asked Video Monty more questions regarding his condition.

"Overall, can you explain how you feel?"

"How I feel?" Video Monty repeated, "er... rejuvenated, yes... invigorated... as if I've stepped back in time almost four decades. I have no regrets having undergone this process. I look forward to Serum's future- and my own, of course." He laughed.

"Thank you." There, the video promptly ended.

Monty sat back, dazed. Seeing himself in the video, along with the visit to Serum earlier, made it all the more concrete; in this world, that was his history, part of his life. That was him, sat at the table, telling Waylon Sr of his experience with Serum, going through the procedures; he, Monty, the owner of the company, 126 years old. It all felt to him like a surreal, lucid dream, but the surrounding evidence told him otherwise.