Frederick remembered that Marx returned two weeks after the plane disappeared. He looked like his usual self and did not even show a limp. He thought that he just suffered minor injuries.
Father and son looked at each other. The gear inside Frederick's mind was turning. Perhaps there was something on that island that hastened Marx's healing process. What could it be?
"Any injury in his brain?"
"There is none, Sir. His brain activities looked normal."
When the scan was completed, Marx joined them inside the monitoring room. He looked at the image of his body with the wounds reconstructed. It looked realistic with the blood dripping from the wound.
"The programmer who coded the algorithm for your modeler is a genius. I supposed that's how my wound looked like after the crash."
His father and grandfather looked away from the monitor. They cannot take it anymore.
