Future Creators

Chapter 8

Whitmore

I changed my mind, I don't like the dark.

I wake up panting, the dream-

Nope, scratch that, nightmare repeating in my head.

Nightmare:

"Where are all the others?" I asked, my head barely able to keep upwards.

"You will all stop training in the same room from now on. The training rooms in their countries have been fixed." My trainer answers politely.

"What if the Debs infest their rooms again? Will they come back here again?" I ask, then I realize what I've just indicated.

"Don't be fond of them, got it?" He answers with a rougher tone.

The world tips upside down out of nowhere.

"Never be fond of them, ever." My trainer's eyes turn black, and his voice hoarse and deep.

Devilish.

Their body transforms into something I'm familiar with.

Very familiar with.

A Deb.

Suddenly, a ton of them rush in and break things.

Everything.

The glass, the walls, the equipment, the lights, the ceilings.

I'm frozen, I don't know what to do.

One comes charging at me, and yells one name over and over while black goo oozes out of its mouth.

Lorena.

Over and over.

A chant that never stops.

A chant that will never stop.

This girl will be my undoing.

First, she makes me feel guilty about making her cry, next, she makes me worried sick about her and actually makes me go to my father, to shout at him.

The one thing I have never done.

Lastly, she comes up in my nightmares.

She has messed with my brain, I don't like it.

At all.

I get up from my bed and walk to the ceramic white bathroom on the other side of the room and hop into the shower. The freezing water feels as cold as ice yet refreshing on my skin, I lean into it and find comfort. I finish showering and turn off the water, only to be met with an irritating sound of my pager ringing. I throw on a white button-up shirt and a black suit. If my pager rings, then my father is asking for me, and that is never good. I run over to his office, fixing my hair on the way. The soldiers move aside so I can scan my face, the doors open and I'm met with all the creators sitting on the rectangular table.

I wish I could've come prepared.

I'm not used to seeing them a lot, especially since they live in other continents. Mrs. Kimura gives me a hint of a smile, and the others look at me blatantly. Their children, on the other hand, stiffen when I enter the room. They believe I'm a ruthless, cold-hearted killer, just because I've killed some Debs. So what? I was given orders to kill them, so I did. Is that so hard to understand? Especially for them? They were given the same orders, and they killed Debs too. Father tells me it's because I've never shown emotion in front of them, he tells me that's the only thing he's proud of me about, as if I didn't have a single other achievement to praise. It's quite saddening if you think about it, but what can we expect from my father, gifts? Never going to happen. Happiness? Never heard of it.

"Nathaniel, honey, sit." Mrs. Russo passes me a smile, even when the anger in her eyes is not hidden. Why do they not like me? I sit down in the empty seat beside my father, Mr. Aziz starts talking about how he's immensely proud of his daughter, Naija, for successfully finishing her whole year training in just six months, Mrs. Russo and Mrs. Kimura are obviously silent, since their children are no longer with us. It must have felt horrible losing their children on the same day. Though my father has nothing to say about me.

He doesn't care enough to do so.