Young Writers Society

Chapter 2: Creator 

I feel a dull throb in the back of my skull, and cold metal against my bare arms. Why are my arms bare? I try to recollect what had happened to get me to this point, but it is all too crazy to believe. I mean, lots of people get captured by some guy who calls himself the Gatekeeper of Imagination and transported to their stories. I'm just another happy-go-lucky target. Right? Or I could be terribly ill and having dreadful dreams. I honestly prefer the dreams theory.

Sadly, my internal sarcasm does little to brighten my mood.

'Do I even want to open my eyes?' I think bitterly,'For all I know, that Gatekeeper could have really been telling the truth.'

Admiting that I might be in Resurrection does not help make my queasy stomach any less queasy.

I open my eyes slowly, the bright light stinging until I turn my head away to save my eyesight. I just lie there to drink in my surroundings, noting how everything that is not holograms or glass is metal. How can I say I am surprised? I wince as I sit up, the throbbing not quite so dull anymore. Once I subdue the pain, I stand up.

My bare feet barely make a sound as I find a locker in the back of the medical room, exactly where I had described it. Even the code to unlock it is the same as the story.

Inside is a spare uniform, and the owner's miscellaneous objects. Without hesitation, I strip out of these clothes and put the new ones on. Tracing the familiar symbol on the chest of the uniform shirt, I frown. I drew this so many times, too many to not recognize it.

As I expected, the uniform is slightly big on me, but I shrug and head for the computer in the room. My eyes widen slightly at the sight of the holographic keyboard, but I push my awe aside and begin searching for recent news. Even though the keyboard is easy to use, my fingers often slipped through it entirely.

'I guess creators are not always able to master their creations so easily,' I think jokingly, though now is not exactly the right time.

After a few irritating seconds, I have the news up. The data I see on the screen makes my blood freeze in my veins, confirming my first and distant thought.

'There is no denying this,' I think, 'Ashley Blakewood is reconstructed, and they have just come back from Alchester.'

Just as I finish my thought, I hear mechanical doors slide open. I do not even twitch when they do, keeping my eyes glued to the screen. Anywhere but at who just walked in.

"I find it interesting how you managed to open a locked locker," Says a voice that has a slight hint of an English accent, but obviously American. "Even more so, why a teenager was in a raided warehouse on a military planet."

I can just imagine the owner of that voice's hand twitching toward the pistol at her hip. I wrote her into existence, I should know how she responds. If I remember correctly, Ashley is on edge at this point in the story.

With as much courage as I can muster, I turn to face my protagonist. Her bright hazel eyes have a hint of humor, but the forced smirk shows that she is ready to shoot me if I try anything. Despite the woman's casual clothing, the air of command rolls off her in waves.

I frown at how exact this person is before me, the same long raven black hair and glowing orange scars. "I doubt you'd believe me even if I told you."

Ashley tilts her head and says, "Try me, I bet there are crazier things than you out in the galaxy."

I look away and mutter, "Says the dead walking."

The silence that answers that brings me to return her level look and answer, "How about I tell you I have amnesia, would you accept that answer? The truth, sadly, is beyond my understanding right now. How about the name of my interrogator?"

The glare that briefly crosses her face is enough to make me wonder if what I said cornered me more, but she did not let it slip that she had any angle. "Captain Ashley A. Blakewood, and you must be Laurel Sinclair."

My eyes widen at my name being said, but then Ashley holds up a binder. On the cover is the title Resurrection and my name. Panic fills me as I lunge to snatch the binder away, but Ashley is a soldier. A highly trained soldier in hand-to-hand, to be exact.

She pulls the binder out of my reach and trips me, restraining me to the cold ground, "Tell me what you were doing on Alchester, and you might get a pillow when you get put in a cell. Teenager or no, you're a suspect of raiding a Galaxy-wide Respondents warehouse."

I wince as Ashley bends my arm painfully, "I don't know, Okay! I was at my home one minute, the next I'm here! Now bloody let go of me!"

The pain is increased for a few moments before mechanical doors slide open again and I see booted feet walk in. I strain to look up and see another familiar person walking in. Just my luck, really.

"Captain!"

Ashley instantly lets go and stands up to address the man that walked in, "Lt. James, escort Laurel here to one of the cells on the second deck."

I frown at the man, Anderson James, a secondary character I had created to crack jokes and break tensions. It's pure irony that he stops Ashley's interrogation.

Anderson gives a crisp salute and helps me up, "This way."

I follow him, but not before glancing curiously back at Ashley. Of all people to start off on the wrong foot with, it had to be my main protagonist.

I follow Anderson past crew members and down stairs, passing even the crew quarters. I try not to think of the holding cells I had created, but the thought of a metal cot inside a square space with see-through walls sends shivers down my spine.

"The Captain is just doing her job, I hope you understand that." Anderson finally says as he types in the code to open my cell.

I give a dry chuckle and grin, "I know that, probably more than you. Do not try to be friendly with me, the sooner this is over, the sooner I can go home."

He gives me a startled look and gestures for me to enter the cell. I frown again and walk in, studying the place with a pained look. I've always thought I'd never be in a cell, but look at where I am now. It's not iron bars with a metal cup to bang around, but it's close enough.

"Also," Anderson says and I turn to him, "You might want your coat."

He tosses me my hoodie that I thought I'd never see again and my face lights up. It was the last birthday present from my father before he died. It was just about the only thing he thought up himself that I really like. He never did pay attention to what I liked, to be honest.

I look up and say, "Thank-you, An-"

I stop myself just as I start to say his name, remembering it has not been said yet. I'll need to watch my mouth while I am here, or else spill the beans.

He winks one of his kind green eyes and smiles, "No problem kid, just try to stay on the Captain's good side and you'll be alright."

Then he runs his fingers through his black hair with white frosted tips in his worrying habit that I made him with before he seals the cell and walks off. Leaving me to stand in my isolated silence, like an annoying buzz in my ear that is driving me insane. I look at the camera in the far left corner of the ceiling of the cell, knowing that the person watching is an agent of GR (Galaxy-wide Respondents). Rebecca Moore, a red-head with plenty of secrets that kill. She may be a scientist, but I have to remember that I also made her a deadly infiltrator.

I wink at the camera and sit down on the metal cot, beginning to do something I never thought I'd do in my tom-boy life: I braid my hair.

Granted, I am going to be very bored. They took everything out of the pockets of my hoodie, and nothing was in the pockets of this uniform aside from a Nanotool download for a game. I grin at the thought of how I know, but that grin is fake and useless.

I guess I have to wait and see what Ashley does to me now, or if Rebecca will convince her I'm an enemy. She might not have with Kia, but I'm a whole other matter. Playing around with words in a verbal debate is not my forte, and Ashley will be able to talk the highest government in circles or make them dance if she wanted.

I stop my braiding and put my head in my hands, "The Gatekeeper is going to pay, that's for sure..."