Chapter 4- This won't turn out well

I was doing paperwork at my desk, trying desperately to not fall asleep. I simply couldn't afford it. It's ridiculous.

Papers were everywhere. I envy ANNET users. It would be much neater to store documents in your head.

My train of thought was interrupted when a thick lump of papers were plopped onto my desk. I looked up to see none other than Dr. Gromov, the creator of ANNET. Something good must have happened because he looked positively giddy with excitement.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked, grinning broadly. Ha ha, I thought. He continued. "I've succeeded! We've found Seven!" He exclaimed. Seven? Oh, right. His new project. I think it's crap. Luck will win you a million dollars, not a war. I sighed as I took the papers. I flipped to the back to examine his picture.

"What's with his eyes?" I asked irritably. I didn't have time for photoshop-edited failures.

"He was forcibly genetically modified by the ICM." Gromov responded. "His luck was affected, too. If he doesn't win us the war, no one will." Genetically modified, huh? Interesting…

"Christophorus is going to retrieve him from Germany. He's been identified by the Directorate force." Dr. Gromov said. Oh God… This really was pathetic. Hatchenson? Seven's got to be lucky if he gets back here in one piece with him as his pilot. The guy was a moron.

"Isn't he, er, a bit young to lead our army, though? I mean, would you really trust a seventeen-year-old with our troops?" I asked hesitantly. Honestly, Gromov may be a genius, but he sure is crazy.

"He'll be eighteen before his training is over. And face it, Charles. He's our only hope" He kind of had a point there. But it's a weak hope.

"I guess." I said sleepily.

"Are you okay, Snippy? You seem an inch away from passing out," Gromov commented.

"I am. Wouldn't be if I could afford sleep. And my dream composer's still broken." It certainly was. His stupid dream composer is the cause of my nightmares, and they were becoming unbearable. I had just dreamed of being in a train crash. And the idiot I was with abandoned me to hang from the ceiling.

"I'm busy too. I can't deal with every little thing involving my technology," he said. I could tell that what little patience he had with me was running out. "Like with ANNET. You're only one in several billion people, don't expect any special treatment." And he left. I think I just ruined his good mood. Serves him right.

The business with ANNET is a bit of a sore spot with me. People act like it's something I should be ashamed of, that I can't connect. Some idiot even called me a hipster. Needless to say, they were in trouble.

When ANNET was first connected, there had been an opening meeting for all the directorate workers. It had been around a year and a half ago. I had been nineteen. Everyone had already been given their headpieces. Gromov had come onstage in the meeting room. After a brief explanation, we were all summoned down to the Core Room. Some people had never even been to the Third Level, let alone the headquarters of the world's biggest computer. I was one of the few that got into the actual room. Alex had been standing next to some kind of a robotic hub hanging from the ceiling. The room was an impressive sight- Supercomputers everywhere aside from a small area in the center with a large screen and a desk.

Gromov pushed a button on the side of the hub. All the supercomputers buzzed to life and the screen lit up. There where whoops and cheers from the crowd. I had no clue what was going on. A strange buzzing filled my ears. Suddenly a splitting pain erupted in my head. I tore off my ANNET device- an earpiece- and collapsed to the floor.

"WHAT IS THIS!" I shouted. The people around me were too busy on the ANNET to hear me. Except Gromov.

"What happened?" He asked. I picked myself off the floor.

"You call this great? Maybe as a MURDER WEAPON!" I yelled. "It SHOCKED ME!"

"The others don't seem to be having any problem… I'm not, anyway," Gromov said, looking puzzled. Suddenly he smacked his forehead. "Some genius I am! There's always a glitch! ONE! And then I can't forgive myself! I don't think it's compatible with your neural structure. I thought this might happen to a few people." He groaned. "I'm sorry, but this is just too small of a problem for something that's to be used worldwide. I'll see to it that you get physical copies of all documents. I don't know how much of a problem this will be, though." And he left to speak with the crowd.

And look where I am now! In this underpaying desk-job. Not enough money to buy sleep (seriously, how do you copyright physical behavior?) and whatever sleep I get is filled with horror. The new transmitter towers that transmit brainwave frequency give me constant migraines.

But I get the feeling that this new Project Seven will change a lot of things.

A/N: This was a pain to write. So many detailssss…

ALSO! VERY IMPORTANT!

Mr. Alexius's computer has died! Help him save zee deliciousness that is RomAc!