he pillows feel nice under my head, the blankets pulled up to my chin. It was all a bad dream, thank goodness. Just a bad dream. I bury my face in the pillows, then my eyes shoot open. The pillows smell fresh and soapy, like detergent. I haven't washed my pillows at home in weeks.
I peel the covers off of my body. I was definitely not wearing this when I fell unconscious; now I'm wearing sweat pants and a grey t-shirt. Last night I wore a hoodie and jeans. I slide my feet over the mattress onto the pristine, white-tiled floor. I am soundless as I creep on socks to the door. The room is clean, sterile white like a hospital.
Outside of my room is a carpeted hallway. Doors like the one to my room line the walls. I choose to go left down the corridor. There's a left turn up ahead, so I sneak to the corner to take look at what's up ahead.
"Mr. Sanders," someone behind me says. I recognize the voice as the one from last night.
I whip around.
"You drugged me!" I yell.
"I'd like to think of it as 'sedating'," the man says. He is tall and pale, wearing a black suit and a navy tie.
"Call it what you like, but you can't just do that to people!" I scream at him. I stop and look around. "Where the hell am I?"
"You're safe, for starters. Why don't you come with me and I can explain everything to you. You've had a rough couple of hours, so try and take it easy," the man says.
"Why should I even trust you," I mutter bitterly.
"What other choice do you have?"
I only shake my head at this. He's right, of course. There really is nothing I can do.
"You better not be lying to me," is all I can manage. It's a weak threat.
"I think it is in both of our best interests if we remain completely candid with one another," the man says with a winning smile.
He turns and motions for me to follow. I let out a sigh and trail after him. He walks at a brusque, quick pace so I have to really try and keep up.
"Now then. I might as well start at where we are. Currently, we are in the medical wing of the Department of Special Homeland and Foreign Security Building in Washington, D.C.. In actuality, this building doesn't exist. You won't find it on any map, and people will think you are crazy if you ask about it. That would be because we are several miles underground," He says stopping to make sure I'm still behind him. Up ahead a little ways is a glass door. A panel by the door glows a faint blue color. The man–who still hasn't even given me his name–walks up to the panel and places his palm on the glowing monitor.
A high beeping noise emirates from the machine, then the door swings open. The man leads the way into another hallway, but this one is populated by people in business suits and dresses, bustling by with brief cases and file-folders. The man I follow takes a sharp left to a door with another panel, and opens it like the last.
This room is darker, quieter, and much larger than the last. A large screen hangs on the far wall. Rows of desks with their own computers face it, sort of like how they always depict NASA's mission command in the movies, although this room is much more updated. Our feet make no noise on the carpeted floor as we walk through rows of desks to the large central monitor.
"This is the Hub, where we aid our field agents on missions," the man says.
"Could I just interrupt here for a second?" Without waiting for permission, I continue. "Who are you? Why am I here? I'm not a terrorist or anything. Can I just leave?" I finish with a shout.
"Are you quite done?" The man asks. I nod a little.
"My name is Mr. Ancipeson. You can call me Mr. A if you desire. That's what my students called me back when I was a teacher," Mr. A says with the wisp of a nostalgic smile. I notice that he has a faint accent that I just can't place.
"Tell me; do you wonder why you stand here unscathed while your friend, Amy, is dead?" Mr. A asks.
I consider punching him in his hooked beak-nose. The fury and grief rise in me like a fiery tide, but then it dawns on me. It was in a head-on collision. If it was fatal for Amy, it should have killed me too.
"Wha- how...?" Is all I can get out.
"You're different Kyle. You aren't like normal people; you are special."
"Special? How?"
"You have been born with abilities beyond scientific reason. You're a miracle child, a wonder of evolution," Mr. A says.
"First, I don't believe in evolution. Second, I don't get it. You're saying I have, what, super powers?" I ask, dumfounded.
"Well, so far you have exhibited the ability to project a defensive aura, a 'force-shield' if you will. Our specialists believe this is just the tip of the iceberg with you."
"A force-shield? I-I think I need to take a minute to process this," I say vaguely.
If Mr. A responds, I don't hear him. Amy is dead. I had special abilities I could have used to save her, but I saved myself. I could have saved her. I could have saved her. Why couldn't I save her?
"Here, why don't I show you others like you, to help you understand just what you will be dealing with," Mr. A says. He walks over to one of the desks and types some things into the computer.
The giant monitor flicks to life, and what appears to be some kind of advanced file system pops up. Names are listed in a long row:
Fallows, Kasper; Finch, Damien; Herydeikòva, Serik-Zauresh; Haloen, Stephen, and so on. Names that mean nothing to me, seem utterly unimportant.
Mr. A selected Serik-Zauresh's file. A frozen video popped onto the screen.
"This young lady has been training with us for a few months now. She too shows great promise. Watch," Mr. A says, inclining his head toward the screen.
As he plays the video, a girl is brought to the front of the screen. The person behind the camera introduces her as Serik-Zauresh. At first glance she is a pretty girl, though not outstandingly. She has the characteristically tragic look of most Eastern Block denizens. Her face is angular, yet beautiful in its on way.
At a closer look, her nose is slightly off, and scars mar her would-be beauty. One runs through her eyebrow, another her lips. A burn mark scorches her cheek.
At a command, she backs up, and three practice dummies can be seen behind her. Serik-Zauresh grabs a knife from the wall behind her. Then, she goes to work.
The girl bounds to life like a predatory feline, pouncing between the dummies with precise agility. Her knife glitters as she dances with inhuman speed around her targets. The video abruptly ends.
"Isn't she amazing? Quite the spectacle, huh? And her powers are some of the more mundane ones that we have worked with," Mr. A says, clearly proud of the girl.
"So you train people like her–like me–in this place?" I ask hesitantly.
"That would be correct."
"So basically you're saying I'm stuck here for a while?"
"Look Kyle. I'm not going to sugar coat this; you are a bright child and I do not wish to insult that. The government has deemed you and others like you unsafe without proper training."
"What about my parents? My friends? My entire life back home?"
"You will make new friends, a new life, here. Your parents have already consented to your studies here," Mr. A states.
My parents are okay with shipping me away from home to study in some underground government base? Thanks guys, I really appreciate that. Especially after–after watching my best friend die in front of me, while I had the power to stop it.
I sigh. "Well, I guess that just leaves one more question."
"Of course! What would those be?"
"When's dinner?"
xXxXx
Well how was that guys? You have been unofficially introduced to Serik-Zauresh Herydeikòva, submitted by Cirque de Morte! Now here's the accepted characters so far:
Guys:
-Kaishi Rokuro
Gals:
-Serik-Zauresh Herydeikòva
-Kasper Fallows
Villains:
-OPEN
-OPEN