To Kingdom Come E-Book

KP Sullivan

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 477

Beschreibung

KP Sullivan is a 17-year-old high school senior who began writing this novel at the age of 14 as a means to sort through her emotions regarding the global climate crisis.

KP firmly believes that the future of this planet is at a crossroads and that if nothing is done to reverse climate change, our chances for survival are slim. Despite being fictional in nature, this novel creates an urgent plea to save Earth's ecology.

Follow Molli, Anya, Maze, Cynthia, Reese and Dean as they travel through time to an era before Earth’s destruction in a desperate attempt to provide humanity with a chance at redemption. This gripping adventure takes readers through different worlds and timelines while underscoring the perils associated with neglecting our planet's needs.

(c) 2023 KP Sullivan

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

To Kingdom Come

Foreword

Dedication

Chapter One – Molli

Chapter Two - Dean

Chapter Three - Cynthia

Chapter Four - Anya

Chapter Five – Maze

Chapter Six – Reese

Chapter Seven – Molli

Chapter Eight – Dean

Chapter Nine - Cynthia

Chapter Ten – Anya

Chapter Eleven – Maze

Chapter Twelve – Reese

Chapter Thirteen – Molli

Chapter Fourteen – Dean

Chapter Fifteen – Cynthia

Chapter Sixteen – Anya

Chapter Seventeen – Maze

Chapter Eighteen – Reese

Chapter Nineteen – Molli

Chapter Twenty – Dean

Chapter Twenty-One – Cynthia

Chapter Twenty-Two – Anya

Chapter Twenty-Three – Maze

Chapter Twenty-Four – Reese

Chapter Twenty-Five – Molli

Chapter Twenty-Six – Dean

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Cynthia

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Anya

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Maze

Chapter Thirty – Reese

Chapter Thirty-One – Molli

Chapter Thirty-Two – Cynthia

Chapter Thirty-Three – Anya

Chapter Thirty-Four – Dean

Chapter Thirty-Five – Maze

Chapter Thirty-Six – Reese

Chapter Thirty-Seven – The Hexagon

Chapter Thirty-Eight – Molli

Chapter Thirty-Nine – Dean

Chapter Forty – Cynthia

Chapter Forty-One – Anya

Chapter Forty-Two – Maze

Chapter Forty-Three – Reese

Chapter Forty-Four – Molli

Final Chapter - The End to the Beginning

To Kingdom Come

Copyright © 2023 KP Sullivan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or in any medium without permission from the author or publisher, except as expressly permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Author may be contacted at [email protected]

Foreword

I wrote this book to bring to light something we often take for granted: Our home, the Earth.

It may seem strange for a child to think so deeply about this issue, but the slow destruction of this planet has stuck with me since I was old enough to comprehend the concept of climate change.

My goal in writing this book is to spark deeper thought about how our actions affect this world. If this book encourages one person to think even a little more about the world around them, then I will feel fulfilled.

Thank you all for having a mind open to others' perspectives. It means the world to me.

- KP Sullivan

Dedication

To my mom, who truly embodies the definition of unconditional love.

Chapter One -- Molli

AP calculus, AP chemistry, AP Spanish. It is only appropriate for the varsity cheerleader, a star student performing well above a 3.8 GPA, to take all honors courses. My red curls latch onto my eyelashes. I stride through the halls with my usual artificial confidence. "Hey, Molli." My friends brush past. I wave to the bulky, messy-haired boys who string their jerseys across their chests, comparable to the sashes one wins from beauty pageants. As more of my classmates pay attention to every detail of my existence, I feel drawn into my subconscious cave. Even my pink, fitted dress is enough to see that socially, in this trivial hierarchy, I'm above most. I never wanted to be, but it's not like I can change now. I'm comfortable. I have friends, many praying they could have a chance with me, and a high enough reputation that my mom can boastfully brag to her friends about at the country club. Standing out, I guess, is my way of fitting in. Anyone can pick me out of a crowd: the emerald, green eyes, extraordinary red curls, and my "ideal body." I enter my classroom and take a seat.

My Spanish teacher greets us with his usual grit, unbothered by those who roll their eyes. I respect him for that. No matter how many students disrespect him, spread rumors about him, or insult him knowingly behind his back, he does not care. He is not interested in trying to please the standard population. Well, I guess he can't care ... as a teacher, the maturity to ignore your adolescent, naive students is integral in performing well. But still ... I wish I could be like him.

As he tells us to begin our review, a note is passed to me. It's from one of the football players, yearning for my attention. It's obvious this boy likes me, but ... it's surface level. Teenagers only desire one thing; I have to keep that in mind. I smile and turn to him as he sits behind me. I wrote him a few sentences back to address him as a friend. I don't plan to date in high school. God knows if anything about my looks differed, these bounds of attention would be non-existent.

When the bell rings, class and school are over. I pack my bag and grasp my keys. I momentarily head to the parking lot and sit in the driver's seat, catching up on social media on my phone. I like my friend's posts and respond to the invitations I receive for get-togethers. Suddenly, an error pops up. "System cannot uphold the current strain on the network. Subjects will --"

I couldn't make out the last sentence before the screen enveloped into darkness. It's odd though ... why did my phone refer to the users as "subjects?" I don't know ... I guess it's time for a new phone.

I drive on the vast highway as my mind ponders and reflects. I live far away, in a lovely house. My parents do well for themselves. They're objectively wealthy, in some ways, at least. I have a dog, Peanut., a beige great Dane. He's my favorite person, well, being in my life. I'd say he spends more time with me than my parents do. He knows me better than my parents do. He knows when I'm happy; he comforts me when I'm sad. That's why my parents adopted him, so he'd be a makeshift parent when they were on business trips. He is the only emotional support I've got.

I arrive in the gated community and pull into the garage, large enough to be a small house. The eggshell-white door softly opens, and Peanut greets me. He's enormous and almost knocks me over with excitement. I greet him back and then attempt to find my mother. After searching the first and second floor, I find her in the spa on the third floor. She's painting her nails and has a bathrobe over her shoulders. She glances at me and says, "Hello, Molli. Did you find out about your midterms? We don't need your GPA below a 3.8, that is, unless you want your academic reputation to shrivel up."

"No, Mom. Nothing back yet. I should've done fine, though. I studied."

She scoffs.

"I checked my phone today, and a system error appeared. It said something to the effect that the network was strained ...? Do you have any clue what that means? Maybe our network provider is trying to take advantage of us ..." She stops for a minute. Her face is plastered with an odd analytical expression. "No, it is not the network ... It is the -- the model of the phone. It's old. I have already ordered you a new phone," she spits out with a monotone intonation. Strange ... she's never like this with me, she's always passive-aggressive, never blank. What's happening now is creeping me out.

"How did you know to order me a phone when I just told you about this?"

"Because ... uh -- I got the same message. Two new phones are ordered."

"Wouldn't you need three for Dad --?"

"Molli. Don't give me an attitude. It would be best if you were grateful I ordered a new phone at all. You could have stayed with this outdated model, barely able to withstand a simple check of social media."

How did she know I checked social media ...?

"Be grateful," she continues, as I become increasingly more cautious, "Do you understand? Now, don't you have homework? I have a meeting to attend soon. Just leave me be."

I do as she says, not wanting to rock the boat. But still ... I'm a little on edge. That entire interaction was just ... bizarre. Her telling me to leave was back to normal, so ...

I stroll to my room across the house. All pastel colors: primarily pink with a white accent. Neat, littered with top-of-the-line furniture and priceless decor. The kind of room everyone wants but no one can afford. Trust me, though, my parents have a surplus of material wealth. Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful to have all this, contrary to what my mother may say. However, sometimes I want some emotional sustenance too.

I take my books out from my backpack. As I try to solve complex derivatives, my head begins to pulsate with intense pain, with the power of a devastating storm. I assume it's a migraine, but even a migraine wouldn't do this to you. I reach for my cabinet, ibuprofen, or something, but I can't even think. I scream for someone. my mom should be able to hear me from here, but I get no response. Even my dog, who follows me everywhere, is nowhere to be found. "Someone, please! Help me!" I cry. I fell out of my bed and crumble to the ground. It feels like someone is repeatedly stabbing me as egregious pain migrates throughout my body. I try to yell and scream, but it's useless anymore ... I blacked out.

I wake up on what looks to be an operating table. Tubes, wires, and strings flow out of every part of my body and connect to overwhelmingly huge machines. What is this place? Around me, I recognize some of my classmates from school. Why are they here?

Chapter Two - Dean

The further I meander down the halls, the longer and longer they become. Spanish is next. AP Spanish, nonetheless. Why did Ma put me in all AP classes? AP calculus, chemistry, Spanish. God, I want high school to be over. Of course, my parents had to make my last year absolute hell. I stroll into Spanish and my friends follow. My other classmates avert their gaze as they sense my presence. Some quiver at my sight, and I'd like to keep it that way. No one bothers me. I'm efficient at keeping people afraid and at a distance. A pretty good way to live life, I must say. It's how I live my life. I might not be entirely fulfilled, but this system works for me.

"Mean," or an "asshole," is what I'm known as. But I don't think of it that way. I'm just not a people person. If I don't want to put up with bullshit, I won't. And I don't mind using physical aggression to get what I want. That's not mean. Assertive, maybe.

My seat makes a noise as I slump into it. My Spanish teacher begins to blabber. I feel my head become increasingly heavy as his words morph into a hum of white noise. I like the guy, though. He doesn't waste our time; he's nonchalant. That doesn't mean he's not dull, though. "Get your review packets out," he says. I oblige. I respect him, so I listen. But I can't stay a good student for too long ... My eyes begin to wander throughout the classroom. I see Maze trying his best to impress and get with Molli but to no avail. He doesn't have a chance with her. Molli isn't stupid. She recognizes his motives. He may be a top football player with a model face, but he's gregarious and disrespectful.

I observe Cynthia being her usual self, organizing her supplies neatly into piles and groups of three. She's very organized, if you couldn't tell already. She's almost too organized ...

Yes, I tune into others' lives, habits, etc. ... You could call it gossip, but I like to know what's happening around me. Nothing more.

Sooner or later, while my mind constantly jumps between the unconscious terrain and reality, I hear the bell ring; I jump from my seat, snatch my bag, and saunter out to my car. I feel my phone vibrate. Usually, I ignore notifications ghost people until they become so aggravated they bicker with me in person. But something pulls me to check this one. It's a system error; reading, "System cannot uphold the current strain on the network. Subjects will awake soon."

"What? The hell is that?" I mumble out loud.

Hackers. It's gotta be---stupid goddamn hackers. I squish my phone aggressively into my pocket. When I get home, this thing will get flung out the window.

My ride home is steady. The highway's clear. I live far away in a gated community. Yeah, I'm rich, materially. I don't have the nice, wealthy parents you see in the movies. Nevertheless, I do have the cliche dog. Peanut. My Great Dane, and indeed my best friend.

I park my car and go inside to find Peanut right behind the door. I pat him on the head and go to look for Mom. Dads is on a work trip or something of that nature, but I don't care. He doesn't take the time to ask me how I'm doing in school, how my friends are, or what I like to do. I don't even think he knows I like to skateboard. So, I don't ask him where he's going when I see three huge, black suitcases in the living area, packed to the brim with suits, ties, dress shoes, and boxes of chocolate for God knows who. I hope they're for work colleagues, important clients, but ... I'm not stupid.

I know Mom will be in the spa on the third floor. Surprise, surprise, that's where I find her.

"Hello, Dean. Did you find out about your midterm? We don't need your GPA below a 3.8. We've been there before. That is unless you want to be grounded for three weeks." She snaps.

"No, I didn't get it back. Didn't I say I'd tell you when I did?"

"Like you did last year?"

I stare at her, eyes heavy. A few seconds go by. She smirks victoriously.

"I got this weird system message on my phone. It said, 'System cannot uphold the current strain on the network. Subjects will awake soon.' I don't know exactly, but it was kinda weird --"

I cut myself off when I noticed Mom's sudden change in her demeanor. She's got this odd face with this odd look in her eyes. Just ... Odd. I don't ... I don't know what to make of this.

"The system is outdated; your phone is old," she speaks with a wary, monotone voice.

I chuckle, "You okay, Mom? You're acting really weird --"

"Dean, I told you your phone is outdated. What's so hard to understand about that? I was going to tell you that I already got you a new phone, but if you want to have an attitude with me, you can go and do your homework in your room. Be grateful for all I do for you. Understand? Be grateful. Now, I have a meeting to attend soon. Just leave me be."

Well, now this is her usual, lovely self, bitterness with hints of disappointment. I don't bother to say anything. Instead, I drag my feet to my gray room, posters plastered with some of my favorite bands.

I fall onto my bed, aiming to nap, when suddenly, my head just starts ... pulsating. This strong, sharp pain spreads from my temples to my stomach then my feet. It covers my entire body. But most concerning, it spreads into my heart.

I scream for someone to help, but no one replies. I try to get up, walk to a phone, and call an ambulance, but I fall to the ground. I black out.

When I finally wake up and am brought to my senses, I feel tubes and IVs as they cover the entirety of my body. I lean up to see people from my classes. What the hell is going on? Is this place a hospital?

Chapter Three - Cynthia

I grasp my books in their correct order: AP calculus, AP chemistry, and AP Spanish. My properly positioned, straight, pitch-black hair drops from behind my hair, and with a careful touch, I place it back. Walking through the halls, I step on every other tile that makes up the indefinite school floor. One, two, three. One, two, three.

I am seen as intelligent in this school. I don't know how to feel about that label. My peers respect me; they don't pester me. I suppose the intelligence title would bring pressure, but I can't be bothered to carry the burden of reputation along with every other aspect of my life. I guess because of this, I am not especially popular. I know how to carry myself, perhaps making others a little uneasy.

As I walk to my Spanish class, my green blouse flows calmly in the wind of the hallway. I sit in the last column, in the third row, as my teacher starts the class.

I admire my teacher. He's efficient in regard to communicating significant information. I follow his directions and access my review packet. I place three pens on my desk. Since we only review material today, I won't need my highlighters. I spend approximately two more minutes organizing my stationary before I decide it's best to begin my work.

I catch one of my peers, Dean, glancing condescendingly at my systematic processes. He always seems to be eavesdropping. If he'd like to confront me about my ways of living, I'd be glad to have an informative ... conversation.

I hear a snap to the back of me; my attention is brought to another classmate, Reese. He asks for help translating one of the many passages in our packet. I warmly smile. I sympathize with him. He's very timid, resulting in him being lost most of the time. People seem to disregard his very existence at times. So, I whisper under my breath, "... That is a summary of that passage. Here, it asks you to make cultural connections between the fable and the real world."

He retreats into his inner world. My peers are usually intimidated by me and interact with me as gently as possible. When they are not interacting with me, they stare. Maybe they stare because of my school proficiency, or perhaps they stare to observe my competence, like Dean. Maybe they stare because of my intelligence. It's a possibility.

The teacher concludes class, and I gather my materials: AP calculus, AP chemistry, and AP Spanish. As I walk to my car, something vibrates from my backpack. I check my phone, as any unchecked notifications make my skin crawl. It's a system alert, I presume. It reads, "System cannot uphold the current strain on the network. Subjects will awake soon." It vanishes a second later to an empty, black screen. Strange ... I'll have to consult with Mother about this.

This worry melts away as I drive throughout the town. I live far away, for my family thought it best to be guarded in a gated community, where the only things that play and dance along the empty streets are the newest tokens of wealth: sports cars, driven by those draped in designer clothing.

I have a sizable house. My parents don't spend a lot of time with me, nonetheless. They are overwhelmed with their vigorous work schedules. Their careers are their real children. I'm simply a vessel to carry the family name.

I have a dog, though---my real family. I named him the most creative thing I could think of as a child: Peanut. He always lingers around me.

I enter my house through the door, which has newly chipped paint. This takes me aback; usually, our house is in the most pristine condition. Mother must've not noticed. She most likely would have replaced it by now.

With his huge, slobbery mouth, Peanut greets me in the doorway. I gently grin and push him back hesitantly. This blouse is very expensive, and Father would be upset if Peanut damaged it. Mother and Father barely tolerate Peanut as it is. They never wanted a dog but decided it would be best for my mental health.

I know where my mother is. She always resides in her spa on the third floor. I approach the spa, and I hear the splash of a foot bath. Her hair is wadded up in an imperfect towel.

"Hello, Cynthia. Did you find out about your midterm? We don't need your GPA below a 3.8, that is, unless you want your reputation to shrivel up."

"Unfortunately, we have not received them yet. Though, I got all A's on my previous assignments."

"A-pluses, correct?"

I reluctantly reply, "Mostly ... three out of four."

She scoffs, stinging my pride.

I bow my head down, avoiding eye contact before continuing, "Nevertheless, I received this odd message on my phone. It read, 'System cannot uphold the current strain on the network. Subjects will awake soon.' This phone isn't the newest model, I'm aware of that. I knew I'd need the latest one soon. But, I found it strange they referenced the users of this phone as subjects. And what is it referencing when it says we will 'awake'--?"

I halt my words when I sense an unusual demeanor emanating from my mother. She peers at me, her face blank, with no expression.

"Mother?"

"You need a new phone ... The system is outdated. I received a similar message this morning."

"Mother, are you feeling well? You seem slightly ill. You can't even put a sentence together."

"Cynthia, I told you. The system is outdated. What's so hard to understand about that? Now, I was going to tell you that I ordered the newest model for you, but if you are going to give me attitude, you may have to deal with the broken piece of junk. Be grateful, understand me? Grateful. Now, don't you have homework to do? I have a meeting soon. "Let me be" she orders, and I obey. My mother has never been the warmest person, with little room for compassion and even less for patience. But something about this interaction is simply a little ... unnerving. I can't pick out what it is exactly. There's nothing more I can do other than let it go and hope things are better tomorrow.

I tread to my room, which is quite large---painted a simple, eggshell white, as simplicity is the basis of order. And order is instilled in every corner of my sanctuary. Of course, one may think I'm senseless, but nothing is ever lost or misplaced. Not even my hairbands. I have five of them, placed beneath my nightstand in the cabinet. My hairbrush is to the right of my jewelry, organized first by piece, then by gold or silver, then by quality. My jackets go to the far right in my closet, untouched by regular t-shirts. I have a separate closet for dress clothes. It may be a lavish system at times ...

I begin my calculus homework, analyzing and transforming each equation into derivatives. Suddenly, a pain forms in my head like no other. I reach my hands to my temples, but then it spreads through the rest of the nerves in my body. I feel like screaming to release the tension.

Think, think. Should I call an ambulance? What about mother?

Without even realizing it, my subconscious runs me to the spa. When I approach Mother ...

She's glitching, literally glitching. I try to make out a clearer picture through the puncturing pain. She is frozen, with what looks like pixels moving in and out of her image. What is happening? What is going on? This must be a hallucination from the pain. That's the only logical explanation. The pain worsens, engulfing the entirety of my body. I do my best to fight it, to reach a phone to call an ambulance. I shriek to relieve myself, but ... the atmosphere fades to black.

When I wake, a headache still burdens me. But in observing my surroundings, I find IVs stuck in every pore of my body, leading to a machine about ten feet tall. I lay in a greasy hospital gown on a cold operating table. The environment is eerie. I look around to see five of my classmates around me ... Where are we?

Chapter Four - Anya

I am always sure to greet and smile at everyone in the hallways. As a result, my cheeks usually ache from smiling so much. It's a good thing. I always try to be optimistic, to see the good in things. There's good in everything; that's what I believe. Even if that good is finding solutions to gloomy, bad problems, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe that's why I enjoy school so much. It may be tiring, yes. But you get to solve problems and meet new people. School is where I am now. I grasp onto the sleeves of my yellow sweater, waving to everyone who casually passes me by. Sometimes, the people here disregard me, the one who's always positive. I'm used to it. I'll always wave to others in case they need someone to notice or see them.

My curly hair catches on to the straps of my backpack. Sometimes, I think of cutting it; it's below my waist. It just feels so heavy, you know? I should be grateful; my mom always shuts down any inquiry of cutting my hair with her sentiment that others pray for my hair. So, I let it be. I allow it flow in the wind as I move forward. I feel slightly shaky, heading to my Spanish class. I push down the gnawing, bubbling anxiety and cover it with confidence. I guess even if it's artificial, fake it 'till you make it.

My Spanish teacher begins to lecture. I appreciate his positivity. Plus, I think he's an excellent teacher. Today is a review day, so I speculate we'll have a pop quiz tomorrow. He always follows a strict pattern: new unit, practice, speaking presentation, more practice, review, pop quiz, reading, writing, listening, another speaking. And then repeat. Though predictable, his teaching style is very efficient in terms of education.

I try hard to focus on reviewing material. I look down at my work when the bell rings, only to see a margin full of doodles and tiny drawings. I sigh and pack my things. I wish the teacher a nice day and exit the school. I push open the door and am encapsulated by a breathtaking view---a soft sky painted with pastel colors by the upcoming sunset. There's a speckle of clouds, which the crescent moon's outline hides behind.

My friends always tell me my eyes are sky blue. You'd think my parents would notice this, but they're not that ... sentimental. They're busy with work, constantly disciplining themselves to get that one extra outline written and submitted. I get it. I'm grateful. I mean, you should see the house I live in. I have an indoor pool, a full-sized movie theater, and more. It's just that ... Well, never mind.

Maybe I have such a significant connection to the sky because my eyes are blue. Perhaps it's because there are endless possibilities in the sky: new worlds, novel discoveries.

I hear my phone buzz, yet I don't check it. I sit on the sharp concrete and take a moment to myself. Sometimes, I resent technology for tainting moments like these. I let myself be enveloped in natural beauty.

When the sun starts to set, I decide to head to my car. It's cold, it's winter. It's supposed to be, at least. Snow hasn't even begun to fall, though. Nonetheless, I want to go home and see my dog, Peanut. So, I pick myself up by my bootstraps and saunter to my car. My drive home is lengthy because I live in a far, gated community.

I arrive and pull into the garage, which seems to echo forever. I wonder if Mom knows I'm home.

I open the door to see Peanut jumping on me and panting. "Hey, bud! I know I love you too! But I gotta see Mom. I'll play with you after, okay?"

I rush up the stairs and to the third floor, to the spa. I always tell Mom about my day; sometimes I think she becomes fed up with me ... I open the door to the intricately pieced-together spa. She's relaxing in a foot bath.

"Hello, Anya. Did you find out about your midterm? We don't need your GPA below a 3.8, that is, unless you want the pride of this family shriveled up."

"Hello, Mom! I didn't hear, but I'm very hopeful. On my way out of school, I saw the greatest sky, which I watched for a little bit --"

In the middle of my sentence, I am stabbed with a sharp pain. I clutch my chest and bow my head for a moment, but it's not going away. It's getting worse. I instinctively look to Mom, but she's --

She's glitching? It looks like she's made of pixels ... My breathing quickens. What is happening? This can't be real. It must be a dream. Just a dream.

I crumbled to my knees. This pain can't be quieted. I don't ... I don't know what to do. I scream to try to get someone to help. I can't take this. I begin to sob, "Mama, please help me!" Sweat and tears drench my face, but I fade into black.

I wake up on what looks like an operating table. It's uncomfortable, as are the IVs poking into my skin. I see a bunch of my friends from school, well, acquaintances. Where are we? This doesn't look like a hospital.

Chapter Five -- Maze

My crooked football jersey falls off my shoulder. The halls separate in my presence, and a few cheerleaders greet me with, "Hey, Maze." I smirk. Varsity football can get you places. My friend, also on the football team, advances toward me and begins to mumble in my ear about his superficial relationship with his girlfriend, who he uses for ... well ...

I've never dated anyone, but there's this girl, Molli ...

She doesn't give me the time of day, but I will change that.

My Ma put me in all AP classes. With my intelligence, I'd never be able to pass those goddamn classes, but that's what the internet is for. I'm walking to AP Spanish right now. I nod to a few people as I sit right behind Molli. I was almost late.

I tap her on the shoulder before sitting, and she artificially smiles. My Spanish teacher begins to drone, and don't get me wrong, I like the guy, but I have other things to worry about.

Thankfully, today's review day, so I take a sticky note and write something to Molli. She glances at me, takes the message and opens it; her expression remains blank. She scribbles a little something, then hands it back.

"I'm grateful to have a friend to joke around with." Friend zone, again.

I leave her alone for the remainder of class and scroll through my phone. I'll think of something to catch her attention. It'll have to wait, though. I'm counting down the minutes until I can leave this damn place. And the bell rings.

I rigidly strut to my car when I feel my phone buzz. Some system notification pops up, but I click on the screen 'till it goes away. I'm tired. I can't wait to go home and nap, but that won't be for another half an hour at least, since I live far away.

I'm rich; I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. My parents decided it was best to live in a gated community. I understand. If I were rich, I'd want to show it off. I'd be materialistic as hell. I'd have a house made of twenty-four-carat gold, with diamonds to line the rooftop. But I wouldn't have children. I can even recognize that children don't belong in this environment without warm, caring parents. My parents didn't provide me with proper care. It begs the question: why did they have me? They don't give one shit about me. I don't care about them, either. I have more going on outside of that hellhole, anyway.

The only "care" they provided me was my dog, Peanut. I've had him since I was a child. He's about as big as me and plays football with me, too. Well, not actually, but he gets it when I throw the ball. So, it's close enough.

I pulled into the garage and pace into the mansion. I scream as loud as possible, "Ma, I'm home. Imma go do my homework now!" And I run upstairs. I know she can hear me; she hates when I scream. I don't care.

My room welcomes me, and I lay on my bed. The football posters and framed jerseys cheer for me on the sidelines. I swiftly fall asleep.

This sharp pain in my head awakens me. It hurts, but I always get migraines; this should just be another one of those, or so I thought. The pain migrates into my chest, stomach, and whole body. It feels like stab wounds; I scream, but no one comes. It gets worse, and I try to run to find my mom, but I collapse. I yell once more to try and get someone's attention, even the dogs, but it's no use. Everything around me fades.

I wake up on a cold, hard operating table when I regain consciousness. It's metal, covered with tubes coming out of my body. And I look around me to see five other people from my school in this dark room. Molli's one of them. What the hell is going on?

Chapter Six -- Reese

I smile slightly at the teacher as someone pushes me aside. I'm small, especially for my age, so people usually overlook me. I stay in my lane. I stay quiet. I watch situations conspire from the outside, and that's fine. I might even prefer it that way. I don't get involved in any drama, fights, gossip. I'm the approachable, quiet, but nice "kid." If anyone tries to bother me, it'd be pathetic, too easy, a "new low" for them.

Momma put me in all AP classes. AP Spanish is what's next for me. I tread there, and my worn, gray Converse lead the way. On the way there, several classmates plaster a gentle expression on their faces for me. I guess I'm kind of like a child, in a way. I get welcoming, warm gestures from people I'd usually not expect it from. They pity me. It isn't very comfortable sometimes. But, I mean, at least my school life's not excruciating. I have a home to thank for that.

I get to class early and take a seat in the back. My Spanish teacher waves at me, and I grin, Although he obviously waved at me out of sympathy. I like him, nevertheless. He's friendly and laid back. I see people file into the room, and my stomach drops. I'm not much of a people person.

He tells us to review our textbook and numerous worksheets we've received throughout the year. Do we have a test? I can't keep track. I know Spanish, so it'd be no benefit to review. My eyes drift to the numerous characters in the classroom. I see Dean staring at Cynthia, and you can tell she's uncomfortable, though she doesn't let it show. I've known both of them for a while. We've been in the same district since kindergarten, but we've never really gotten to be friends ... Our personalities are vastly different. Nevertheless, I've gotten to know their behavior. Cynthia is very systematic; to some, it may be ... odd. Dean likes to eavesdrop, so it's not a good mix. I snap at her, and she looks my way, I ask her for help with a passage in old Spanish to distract her from Dean. She sympathetically points to her paper, showing her appendices and annotation. The gentleness she shows me is the most emotion I've seen her emit. You have to help the "helpless kid" of the school---Cynthia's stern and a little irritable. I feel for her that she must have things going on at home. It reminds me a little of my house. I would turn out like her if I didn't know how to cope with my parents. Always anxious. Dean isn't making that better.

I work for the remainder of the time. The bell dings, and I jump. I rush out of the school as fast as possible, only to go to another uncomfortable, unhappy place.

My phone buzzes, and I check it since I never get any notifications. "System cannot uphold the current strain on the network. Subjects will awake soon." What does that mean? It's a little concerning. I shouldn't worry. Mom can ... get me a new phone. I quickly take a screenshot, and I barely catch it. It goes away. My hands shake a little since the format and diction of the notification was unlike anything I've seen before. "Subjects will awake soon?" What is that supposed to mean? I step into my car and drive away.

I live very far away---about 30 minutes. My parents do well in the work arena. We have a mansion, if you were wondering. We live in a gated community. But my life isn't all happy. I'm grateful, but my parents don't acknowledge my existence half the time. I mean, I get it, work's important, but is it more important than their child? Part of me already knows the answer; the other part buries it deep and ignores it.

I love my dog, though. His name is Peanut, and he's almost as big as me. He's a Great Dane. It's funny; he always knows when I'm depressed. You can tell he tries to cheer me up; he brings me a toy or a bone.

I arrive home, and I hesitate to go inside. I grasp the handle, and I open it to see Peanut. I pet him and look around on the first floor. Momma's probably on the third floor, at the spa. I'm correct.

"Hello Reese. Did you find out about your midterm? We don't need your GPA below 3.8, that'd be humiliating."

"Hello. No, I didn't, not yet ... But I got this message on my phone; it was a little weird ..."

I realize I'm talking too quietly, but Mom seems to understand. I swipe my phone from my backpack and try to pull up the screenshot, but the photo was black. The whole screenshot went black. I look at it with utter confusion. I mumble to my mom,

"I-I uh, tried to get a screenshot of the message, but it went black. It seemed like an error."

"Ah, yes. The same thing happened to me this morning. The model of the phone is outdated. My screen went black as well. I will get you a new phone, but for now, leave. I have a meeting soon, and I need to freshen up. Don't waste our time; go do your schoolwork."

She has this odd look in her eye, and I wonder ... My screen wasn't black; the screenshot of the error message was. Did she lie? Would she lie about something that seems to be as trivial as this? And why? But I don't bother to say anything; I go to my room instead of arguing.

My room is a cream color. Really relaxing to the eye. My room is simple. I have a bed with a few plants and a desk. I need a sanctuary where tranquility blooms. I do as mom says and get out my books, but I don't feel like doing homework right now. Unmotivated, as usual.

I sit on my bed for a moment ... then I feel this pain. Indescribable, almost.

It begins with a headache, which makes sense; I haven't drunk much water today. Then, this sharp, pulsating agitation migrates to the rest of my body. I cringe, hoping it'll pass. But instead, it gets worse. I don't know what to do ... Should I call an ambulance? I can barely keep my thoughts straight. My vision starts to fade from the shock. I don't want to bother Mom ... Maybe this is temporary. I lie on my bed, hoping a nap will take care of it. I can't even relax. In my empty room, I scream out of helplessness. It's piercing through my veins. I try my best to close my eyes.

The darkness spreads, and I collapse into it. Before I know it, everything's black.

I wake up on a cold, hard surface. I sense panic around me. I look at my surroundings and see numerous tubes stuck meticulously in my body.

Some of my classmates are around me ... What's happening? This place doesn't look like a hospital ...

Where are we?

Chapter Seven -- Molli

I still can't put my finger on where we are ... but the aura of this room is suffocating. I don't think anyone here knows where we are. The room is dark and dingy. A window on the room's left wall has a keyboard below it. The operating tables everyone's on are in two rows of three, all facing the center. Massive machines are towering behind us, that encapsulate and trap us in this cage. Everyone looks at each other for a moment. Why are my classmates here? That's Maze, Anya, Dean, Cynthia, and Reese ...

"Does anyone know where we are?" I speak hesitantly. We are dressed in tacky hospital gowns that seem to expose every part of us, yet barely any of our bodies are visible.

"No, I don't remember anything after I blacked out."

"Wait, I blacked out too," Dean yells, "This is fucking weird."

Anya adds, "I also blacked out."

"Likewise," Cynthia states

We collectively stare at Reese for a moment, and he nods.

Something is off.

Maze looks at me, concerned. I open my mouth to say something to him, but no words can make their way out. Everyone is dirty. No one knows what to do next. We all know that this situation isn't normal. This, if it's a hospital, is a dangerous one. And we all feel stuck in this cell, with tubes and IV lines in every part of our body.

Maze glances at the sizable machines behind us. "What the ..."

Something is off.

Then, alarms blast any sanity we have out of the atmosphere. Red lights blare with alarms so loud that my eardrums could almost rupture. Anya covers her ears through her furrowed eyebrows, and Reese jumps. Dean yells obscenities as I try, try to have a clear thought. How can we get out of here?

"What is happening?!" Anya cries.

This place is not a hospital. I don't know how, but I know it. I can sense that something's not right. We are at the center of something sinister ... Everything looks and feels out of place. It's as though we aren't even in the same world as before. The others can feel it, too.

Something is off.

I scream over the blaring alarms, trying to fight the thick panic, "I'm getting a bad feeling. We must get out of here."

Cynthia removes the billions of IVs, tubes, and pads stuck to her body. She struggles and winces as she pulls some blood along with the many needles. Attempting to stay collected, she speaks, "I agree with Molli. This is not safe for us. Outside the window, a sign reads, 'Do not enter without security clearance. Doing so can result in incarceration and even death.' There's also a calendar with an anniversary for 'Nova Terrae.' I haven't the slightest clue what that is, nor why we're being contained, but it's clear it's not for medical reasons. I'd suggest everyone remove these IVs so we can try to escape."

Cynthia, one of the first voices of reason, pushes all of us to begin to rip out what is attached to our bodies. Some of us scream and yelp since a lot of these sensors are on our heads, connected to our hair, layered in oil, and thick in grime.

But, out of the corner of my eye, I see a bright light come from the lower right corner of the room. I pause while holding a tube and pointing to the light. Everyone's eyes dart there. It almost seems like ...

No, no, Molli, that's insane. Get your goddamn head on straight! But ... I ...

It seems like a portal. That's insane, though. Not possible ... This is too much to digest. Where are we? Where is my family?

What is happening?

I can't help being pulled to the bright light, though. It's magnetic. It's welcoming. It's too much to resist. My soul begs me to enter; every pore on my body screams, telling me, "It's safe in there." Never in my life would I have thought I would have to enter a portal. This can't be real. Maybe this is all a hallucination; perhaps I'm delusional.

"Everyone, go to the light, now!" I say with all the power in my body.

The rest of them are dumbfounded, all frozen in their place. They can't seem to snap out of this hypnotizing trance. All I know is that we need to go in there.

I sprint to each of them, removing the tubes from their bodies as their minds rush to recuperate. After about a minute or so, I try to drag each of them off the metal table physically. Then, they regain consciousness.

Cynthia bellows, "Wait! We need to think about this. I agree this place is dangerous, but must we enter a p-portal? If that's what it is? What is happening?!" She's unsteady, with erratic, glassy eyes.

She is partially cut off by the footsteps of what seems to be grown men. Security guards, maybe employees, I suspect. My gut feels like it has just been punched. I don't have time to argue with everyone. They're all on their feet, so I get behind them, corner them, and push them into the light. I enter last, which allows me to catch the last glimpse of the room we came from. Two men in lab coats had dozens of security guards behind them enter the room. One of the men had a symbol messily pinned on his chest. It was a pentagon with five different designs. One yells, "The machine malfunctioned!" In response, the other scowls, "Well, since you left your station, now they're in their active state! Damnit!" This causes me more anxiety, so I thrust myself into the portal. I can hear yelling on the other side. The light closes behind us softly, shielding us from the dark structure we were in. Relief flows into me like a gentle wave.

We're in this ether of what looks like clouds, but I can't see the actual sky. There's simply white, foamy mist surrounding us. My heart is filled with warmth as the mist seeps into my skin. Our shabby hospital gowns melt off our bodies, and silk drapes are swathed onto us. Once layered with thick grime and dirt, our skin and hair seem to have melted off with the mist. My auburn curls are glowing. Everything is quiet. Tranquil. The stress of a few moments ago feels more like a millennium ago. Everyone is at ease. Everyone, including myself, has so much to say, many questions to ask, and so much tension to relieve. This atmosphere, though, puts us at peace. Every sensation, every feeling, even joyous feelings, radiate off us and dissipate.

Everything is neutral. Everything is peaceful.

We all remain in this trance for a few more minutes, then sense someone else. Something else. A being. He's not like me or my classmates. His silhouette is human, but you can't draw any conclusions about him from how he looks, not his hair color, eye color, skin color, or even age. He is literally glowing. I'm not exaggerating. Every part of him is golden. Light surrounds every aspect of his body. He is peaceful as well, although a bit excited. My emotions rush back, but not in a stressful way. They're tame now but still present. I want to speak now; I'd like to know what's happening ... but should I? He still stands in front of us, levitating. We aren't standing on the surface at the moment. Instead, we are all levitating.

I believe this being should have some answers to my questions. I don't think it has malicious intentions. Before speaking, I look at my classmates. They look different. The energy they radiate has changed, too. They are unbothered, as if they're trying to enjoy the tranquility. Anya is calmly waving her hand through the gentle vapor. Reese is hugging himself, knees pulled to his chest. I know they can sense whoever's in front of us, but some have closed their eyes, indicating they want to absorb the calmness for a moment more. Not me; I want answers.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" I ask with a vulnerable undertone.

Yes. Can you sense me?

I nod, looking towards my feet. I squeeze my eyes shut now. This person communicates telepathically. I need to think before I speak. I can tell he is more powerful than us and deserves our respect. The others don't look at us. They seem reluctant to snap out of their trance.

"Where are we?"

You are in the realms.

"What ..." I whisper, "What ..." I can't finish my thought. What are the realms? My nerves are beginning to act up again. I feel intimidated by this person. It's probably because I'm in the presence of someone superior. He smiles and continues to communicate.

The realms are seven interconnected dimensions where Supers live and thrive. There's no need to be nervous. But I understand. This must all be so unbelievable and nerve-wracking.

Supers? What are Supers?

My eyes race to Cynthia, as she is now communicating as well. Is she telepathic as well? Why aren't I? She seems surprised at herself; her eyes widen as her hand rushes to her mouth.

Ah, you are the telepath. That's beneficial for us to know. It will then be easier to deduce who has what ability and who belongs to which category. Supers are beings with unique abilities, such as telepathy. You each obtain a special, unique ability of your own, landing in one of six categories.

Dean brushes his floppy hair back and scoffs, "Really? And what are these 'categories?'"

This being takes a deep breath before answering. He can likely tell Dean he does not believe this for a second.

Well, we have Reds or the Offensives. These people are fierce and a bit too reckless at times, much like yourself. Their abilities will be related to offensive actions, much like the name. Next are Oranges, or the Healers. These people are caring yet quiet, and their ability includes healing others or themselves. The Yellows, or Defensives, are bubbly and, at times flighty. Their abilities will have something related to defense. Then, the Greens, or originals. These people are confident and cocky. Their ability builds on skills that humans already possess, such as super strength or speed. The Blues, or the Minders, are organized and intelligent but sometimes rigid. Their ability will always be accessed through their minds, like telepathy. Finally, there are Purples or Communicators. These people are incredibly empathetic and intuitive, displaying strong leadership skills, but sometimes can overwork themselves. Their ability relates to understanding others and their viewpoint and communicating that to the world, like shapeshifting, to understand what it is to be in another's shoes. These categories all have six possible abilities, but you all possess one. When all of you are ready, we will bring you to my realm to discover your ability.

Anya looks a bit concerned yet still has her fake, people-pleaser facade. She asks, "Where are our parents?"

Maze adds, "Yeah, and why didn't they tell us? Why are we in a different dimension?"

This being's expression becomes sterner and more apologetic.

It is difficult to explain and may be an intense shock to all of you. Do you want me to share now, or shall we wait a moment until you are all ready?

I don't hesitate, "I want to hear it now." I must know what situation we're in. I have to know how to get back to my reality. This place may be peaceful, but it's not my life.

You see, your biologic mothers are dead. I do not know where your fathers are. The parents you knew were not your real ones. Your whole life was an artificial hallucination created by the government, like a simulation. It is not actually 2019. It is, in fact, about 100,000 years in the future. In 2025, there was a massive, destructive nuclear war that resulted in the death of Earth. Fortunately, humans had scientists with unimaginable technology. The means to create another dimension was discovered using quantum mechanics and the physics of black holes. But, a sample of land is required to create another habitable dimension. The land that was used as a sample from Earth was destroyed.

The human dimension is different. There was not enough time to properly research how to create a habitable land. So, the planet is a collection of little, floating islands energetically connected by gravity. There are no oceans, so if one were to fall in the gaps between the lands, ... they would keep falling until they reached the center of the pull, where they would stay forever. There is barely any light, as they neglected to research how to create a proper star. When light is created from immense amounts of galactic and cosmic energy flowing into their dimension, it is shielded by fog that stays thick in the air below the islands. When it rains, the rain that does not land on the land will dwell below the island as fog until it circulates back to the clouds again.

He stops, waiting for our reaction, but ... there's nothing to say. I don't know what to think. How do I know he's telling the truth? He is a glowing being, so how can I not believe him? But what if this is all a dream? What if I wake up? Wake up, Molli. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake --

Dean snobbishly snaps, "You didn't answer his question. Why aren't we with the humans, us 'Supers?'"

The chemicals and radiation used in the catastrophic weaponry from the "Final War" followed the humans into their dimension. The sample of land used to create the new world was saturated with these venomous substances. These substances have a mind of their own, it seems. They disperse into the fabric of their land, Nova Terrae. Every 100 years, these molecules, radiation, and energies regroup, being magnetically attracted to one another until a surplus of power is so immense in one area of land that it is absorbed into a pregnant woman. A pregnant woman is more vulnerable to this absorption as a single body does not have enough biomass to feed from.

These substances and radiation peacefully and harmlessly become a part of the fetus. The fetus wrests all the mother's energy at birth, inevitably killing her. The radiation and substances present themselves in the child as a unique ability. The child, for their lives, becomes a source of radiation. They become dangerous for normal humans to be around. Humans haven't evolved much since the Final War or in this period. They are far too worried and focused on the unavoidable. They want to kill you. So, you cannot stay with the humans on Nova Terrae.

We are all technically humans, but we are different. I am significantly different since I absorbed these substances straight from Earth. I lived on Earth 100,000 years ago. I am the first Super. I possess all the abilities in each subsection. I created the realms to rescue all of the Supers who develop.

Before I can even think, since that seems impossible now, my subconscious asks, "Then why were we in a simulation?"

The government wanted to find a way to eradicate the Supers, but Supers don't die without consequences. If the government were to kill us, it would cause an explosion without visible debris and fire, eating everything around it. The chemicals in our bodies would radiate out, killing anyone within an approximately 100,000-foot radius. The government attempted to kill the second generation of Supers. In consequence, there was a massive extermination of humans.