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weeks, Ben spent a lot of time in the medical room, mere metres away from the skeletons of Highgate Cemetery. He saw doctors, surgeons, an optician, a physiotherapist, even
engineers, technicians and computer experts to mend his broken body. And there was a psychiatrist. She wanted to mend his broken mind – to help him overcome the mental trauma of losing his
family and parts of his body. Apart from her, they all said the same old phrase – you’re lucky to be alive – before they set about improving him.
    Above them all in the specialist centre was Angel. Unit Red’s boss came and went, but he was fond of saying that he would be available every step of the way as Ben learned to live again.
He was less fond of explanations. He always avoided talking about the exact nature and purpose of Unit Red.
    Outside, the world carried on without Ben. The dead were laid to rest and mourned. The police were investigating the Thames explosion, following a lot of leads, but making no arrests. Most of
the ruins on the south Essex and north Kent coasts would be rebuilt. Some businesses and people would start up again. Many would find it too painful and move away. Confined to the Unit Red
headquarters in London, Ben would also be rebuilt.
    Sometimes, thoughts of life beyond Highgate Cemetery came to Ben’s mind. Usually, they hit him when the pain would not go away or when he couldn’t sleep. He ached to know what had
happened to Amy and why, according to Angel, it was never the right time to be reunited with friends. He ached to know who had robbed him of his normal life, his friends and family, everything he
had. And he ached to know why.

 
3 TRANSFORMATION
    Unit Red’s chief surgeon led Ben to the room at the end of the underground corridor. Hesitating by the door, he said, “This is where you’ll have the big
operations.” Going inside, he added, “Sometimes you’ll see it. Sometimes you won’t. It depends whether you need local or general anaesthetic.”
    Ben gasped in amazement. He was inside a tiny observation room. Beyond the window was a fully equipped, modern and spotless operating theatre, just like in a hospital.
    “It’s sealed,” the surgeon told him, “to prevent infections. We can’t go in without scrubbing up and getting into sterile clothing.”
    Ben’s eyes struggled to focus. He couldn’t make out all of the equipment and, even if he could, he wouldn’t have recognized most of the high-tech kit. There was a large trolley
with electronic gear on each shelf and a long monitor at the top. A giant computer screen and a digital clock were attached to the left-hand wall. There was a cupboard that probably contained
horrible things like scalpels, drills and medical saws. Above the operating table were three massive round lights on jointed arms so that they could be moved into any position. There was also a
laser. At the head of the bed was a doughnut-shaped ring that would just about encircle a body like a lifebelt. “What’s that for?” Ben said, pointing at it.
    “Ah. We’ll be using that straight away. It’s a brain scanner. MRI – magnetic resonance imaging – it’s called. I’m going to drill a couple of small holes
through your skull – nothing to worry about – and put implants directly into your brain. The scanner will let me see exactly what I’m doing while I’m doing it. And you can
talk to me at the same time.”
    Ben looked horrified. “Talk? Won’t you knock me out first?”
    “It’s better not to. That way, you can tell me if you can see better when I connect your optic nerve to a brain implant. You won’t feel any pain. A local anaesthetic will take
care of that.”
    Ben shivered. He thought there was something weird and ghoulish about talking to a surgeon who was fiddling around inside his brain at the time. He didn’t want to hear any more. Instead,
he tried to get an answer to a question that Angel had sidestepped. He took a deep breath and asked,