The Scientist

Finishing the Pod (1)

"Connect this to the power supply," I mutter to myself, letting my fingers do the work. "Pull this through these two," I add, doing so. I connect the tube to the bottom of the pod, and it makes a kurshup sound. I take a deep breath and push myself out of the hole under the pod. I wipe the oil off my hands with a towel, one already streaked with oil and a small bit of blood. 

I grab my screwdriver and the carbon-fiber sheet to cover the wires and tubes. I lay back down on the (Insert name here) and push myself into the hole again. I take a screw out of my pocket and rest the carbon-fiber on the hole above me. 

After a minute, I finish screwing and securing the carbon-fiber. I push myself out and smile to myself. I take my second piece of carbon-fiber and grab my blowtorch. I fit the sheet in the hole in front of me and start binding the sheet to the other, already bound, sheets around the pod. 

After three and a half hours, I finish binding the sheets together. I rub my eyes and stretch, proud of myself. I finished the pod. It took a while, but I did it. 

I clean the small mess I've made and walk up the stairs. I push open the hidden entrance and look around, checking for anyone who might see. When I'm satisfied, I walk through and close the entrance behind me. I walk to the kitchen and completely wash off the oil. 

I make myself some ramen and sit at the table. I eat the ramen and look around the relatively large house. The empty house. I set down the fork and sigh. A large pain comes from my side and I fall to that side, onto the ground. I groan and take a few deep breaths. 

Mother died five years ago when I started sixth grade. We were in the same car when we got in a car crash. That day was probably the most important day of my life. 

Father died when I was four. He joined the army and was deployed to Iraq, where he was killed. I can't really remember what he was like, except for the pictures of Mother and Father when they were alive and together. 

But I don't need parents. I can pay the bills and buy my own groceries. I may only be seventeen, but I can support myself. And no one can tell me what to do. 

I put the dishes in the sink and walk up the stairs. I walk past my parents' room and close the door. 

"Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad." I whisper, looking at the picture little Ryan made of them. I keep walking to my room. The walls are a soft, light blue; a comforting blue. In the far right corner is my corner desk, littered with crumpled pieces of paper and other robotic junk. In the far left is my bed with the singular black, fuzzy blanket that my mother gave me when I was younger. 

In the right corner is my TV/game setup. I have my beanbags in the right corner as well. I have my two additional doors beside my desk. 

I sit on my bed and take off my doofus glasses. I hear a soft groan of metal and groan myself. I walk to my bathroom. I oil up the metal and brush my teeth. I look at myself in the mirror. My oval face with a sharp jawline. My small lips and my almost perfect nose. My mouth curls up into a small smile when I look at my blonde hair. 

The people at Westbrook High call it 'Ryan Hair'. That's because you can never get my hair to lay down, they stand up all the time. And hair gel only makes it worse.

I lay on my bed and close my eyes. 

"Goodnight, Mr. Nathan." The familiar robotic voice says beside me. I nod and wait for my mind to let me fall asleep. 

Let me spare you some time, it takes a while.

A/N: Welcome to The Scientist! I hope you enjoy the rest story. Be sure to follow me for more great stories. And if you have any requests on stories, just message me and I will make it happen! KeithyBoi, out.