text: As I walked into the office, it looked spick and span and modern. I didn't know what to expect. I had searched the net for many days to get the address of this place. The receptionist, a brunette looking all of her thirty-odd years, greeted me. "Welcome to SFD office Madam, can I help you?" "Thank you, I am Mrs Silverking. I had called earlier you gave me an appointment to see Mr Salvatore." I said. "Please take a seat, Madam. I will confirm your appointment and send you to him." I sat down thankfully. Feeling tired, frequently was a symptom I was suffering from. My doctor had told me that there is not much they can do to cure my cancer as of today. The receptionist called on the intercom and spoke. "Mr Salvatore, one Mrs Silverking wants to see you. You will see her now? I will send her to you. Thank you." She disengaged her intercom and called me. "Madam, Mr Salvatore will see you in his cabin. Please proceed to the seventh floor. You will see his office right in front of you." The elevator was a modern soundless model with touch-enabled switches. I got in and pressed the number seven. Soft classical music was wafting into my ears as I stood in the chill atmosphere of the cage. There was no one in the elevator at that moment. I reached the floor and walked out. Right in front of me was an office marked Mr Salvatore, Executive Director, SFD. As I walked in, I saw another brunette manning a desk. “Mrs Silverking, I presume,” she said and asked me to step right into the inner office. It was a plush office. The Director was an expansive man in his fifties. He had black hair, probably dyed, and a receding hairline. He was plump as the comfortable chair he was sitting in. He gestured me to take a seat, and I did. The door closed itself softly. "Yes, Mrs Silverking. I am so happy that you have subscribed to our deluxe package. You said on the phone you needed some counsel about preparing to go down. I am here to help you. I will ask Rina to get you our literature for going under. He gave a crisp order to his secretary, who scurried in immediately with a sheaf of papers neatly packaged. Salvatore inquired, ‘Coffee for you, Madam?’, noting my acceptance, he told Rina, “two freshly brewed cups of Americano please.” "Have a look at the kit, Madam. Most of the information you need and some FAQs are in the kit, there. You can have a glimpse at it and then ask me any further doubts or questions you may have." Skimming at the literature, I got a rough idea of how I need to prepare for my going under. The intro pamphlet mentioned the purpose of SFD: To prepare clients and put them to sleep using the latest Hypothermic techniques. It seems that they had begun this about 12 years ago. Apart from the front office and administration, they had medical, legal and Rehab departments. The legal department dealt with making legal documents like wills. Vetting and preparing the clients was the responsibility of the medical department. Their Rehabilitation section dealt with the reinstalling of clients back to mainstream. Their promise was, ‘all client services in one place’. "We will schedule you to meet our legal and medical experts tomorrow. We scheduled your flight down to be next Monday if all the checks are fine. Any further questions, Madam?" Salvatore asked. "Will I be down for ten years as I have contracted to? Then when I come back, will they restore all my rights?" I asked. I knew the answers but wanted some reassurance. "Surely you will be reinstated fully, Madam. You need to have no fear. We have already restored over twenty-five clients in the past two years. We will be continually doing this as clients complete their tenure. We will resuscitate you, on October 15th 2020, for instance. It clearly mentions all this in our contract, which you are going to sign. We are also taking the signature of your next of kin so that there will be no problem. Your son Frank Silverking is signing, I am told, on your papers. Everything is legitimate and clear, Madam. We are a client-friendly organisation. We are here for your sake." We were sipping our coffee as we talked. I put the cup down. "What are the things I need to do before I come here to stay down for ten years, Mr Salvatore?" "Well, Madam," he continued as he slowly sipped his coffee, "you need to make sure you provide for your pets and your property. As your son stays in your house, he will look after the essentials. Please inform all your friends and loved ones that you will not be available for them for the next ten years. You can tell them you are off to South America if the truth would seem strange to some of them” “Will I be able to come back to my life? Will medical science advance by 2030 to get a cure for my cancer?” I ventured to ask feebly. “We are in touch with your doctors and also with the scientists at the cutting edge of research too, Madam. They assure us that the treatment may be ready in 6 to 7 years. They would have done a few trials also by the time you come back, I am sure.” Salvatore seemed confident. It was his job to be so, I thought. He continued, “I will ask our doctors to have a session with you about the research that is being done on therapeutics in Cervical cancer research in the top universities of the United States today. They will be able to convince you better than me. Will there be anything else Madam?” “What about the costs involved Mr Salvatore? I have paid up the entire costs. I suppose that also accounts for any escalation that may take place in the ensuing decade.” “Yes, Madam. Our accounts section is clear about this. Thank you, Madam, for trusting us with your most precious life.” Indeed, I am trusting this corporation with my life. I began to have some qualms about it. “Am I doing the right thing?” I asked myself for the umpteenth time. Going home, I started to settle my accounts at every front. “Should I be writing an obituary for myself too?” I wondered as I did this. It felt as if I am preparing to die. “Maybe I will be able to come back. If not, then how? Then it is almost like I am going to die.” I thought as I pondered my future.