Wiped | The Trapped Trilogy

One (Part 1)

WARNING: IF YOU HAVE NOT READ TRAPPED, GO READ IT NOW. IT IS THE FIRST BOOK TO THIS TRILOGY. IF YOU FEEL LIKE FIGURING OUT THINGS ON YOUR OWN, THEN IGNORE THIS STATEMENT.

GO FIND THE BOOK ON MY PAGE, JUST CLICK ON MY NAME OR MY PICTURE TO VISIT MY PAGE. THANK YOU.

Happy reading :)

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ONE (Part 1)
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My eyes open to the sound of my name.

"How old are you?" A familiar voice asks.

My eyes struggle to adjust to the light.

"Thirty." It comes out as a whisper, as if I have forgotten how to speak.

Typing.

"I mean seventeen," I correct myself.

Is that my voice?

"What is your occupation?"

"I was a Mechaneer."

I hear more typing.

"Am. I am a Mechaneer."

My eyes are able to focus and I look at my surroundings as best as I can.

I'm in a round room. A Doctors' office. My head is strapped down. It's the only thing I can actually feel. I'm numb from the neck down.

"What is your most recent memory?"

"I was coming here to die."

Typing.

"No," I croak, my brain pulsing with pain. I can feel the needles poking out of the skin surrounding my aching skull; one of them dangles on my forehead. "No, I... I was coming in for a check up. I, uh..."

Typing.

A pain in my wrist.

"I hurt my wrist," I say, wriggling it. It's restrained as well.

"Do you know how?" The voice asks.

"No." I try twisting around to see whom it is that is talking, but the straps are too tight around my body. My peripheral vision shows a blurry figure hunched over something square and white to my left.

"Well, the important thing is that you're okay. Come back into the Hospital tomorrow for a check-up, so we can make sure you're alright."

I try to nod, but my head doesn't move very much. The strap cuts into my forehead.

How long have I been in here? And if I just hurt my wrist, why am I strapped to a chair as if I would harm somebody? Or as if I will escape?

"What are your parents names?" The man asks, and I get a clearer view of him.

"Tama and Murkas Cern."

"Good," The voice sings. "What does your father look like?"

"Short, round... he has dark skin and dark eyes... he has short black hair..."

Typing.

"No. No, I'm sorry, he has none of those things," I say, and look over at the man through the corners of my eyes. He's leaning over a clear monitor. "He looks like you."

"Good, Brynlea. Now, tell me," He picks up a mirror and puts it in front of my face. "Who is this?"

It's not my face. This face's skin is light and the eyes are big and the lips are full. The hair is blonde and the eyes are blue.

"I don't know."

He smiles and goes back over to his keyboard.

More typing.

He holds the mirror in front of me again.

"No, never mind. It's me. This is what I look like. I don't know what came over me..."

He smiles and nods.

"Do you know who I am?" He asks, walking back over to the monitor and typing something else in.

Do I know who he is?

He returns in front of me.

"You're my father," I say. "Murkas Cern."

"Yes, well, I'm glad you remember who I am, Brynlea," He chuckles. "Because I'm the new President of the Domes. I have three more years in office and then maybe you can be the next to reign."

He smiles, and I smile back. What an honor to be in shoes like that. What a life goal to achieve. Anyone can be chosen to be President, and they can be chosen from any job. A Mechaneer has a big chance of becoming President because we understand all there is about the mechanics of the Dome and its workings.

To follow in my father's footsteps... it would mean the world to me.

He unstraps me from the chair and I get up, rubbing my wrists and cracking my neck. How was I sitting there?

"Your house number has changed to one-thousand two-hundred and two, and you'll start up work again tomorrow morning starting with repairing the Dome."

I nod.

"Why was I in here?" I wonder aloud, rubbing away the soreness in the back of my neck.

"You hurt your arm." My father smiles forcefully, and I see beads of sweat collecting on his forehead.

"Do you know how?"

"You fell off of a swing off of the highest parts of the Dome. A handful of Safeties rushed you in and we fixed you."

I nod, not completely believing the story and walk out. After all, my father has never been a good liar...

The Safety Belts on the swing would not have let me fall, considering we repair them every other week. I shouldn't doubt it, but I am, and I never do that. What the Government says is what goes, and I don't have any problems with it. I've always been curious about why people doubt and why people want to go against things, because everything has its purpose of why it's there, and everything has a history behind it. There is always meaning behind why something is a certain way, and that's the same with people. I don't doubt because I wasn't trained to doubt, wasn't raised to doubt. I wasn't raised to doubt myself or anyone else, and that's worked out pretty well for me.

Maybe I'm just overreacting. Of course I am. That's why I had to think all of that out. It's just the medications they probably gave me to dull the pains.

I walk out into the light, feeling the fake wind brush across my face. The orb of light hanging from the sky-lid is illuminated with an afternoon glow.

Our history says that our Dome was made to protect the remains of humanity. Our ancestors destroyed the Earth, and, consequentially, made it to where Earth was inhabitable. Life outside the Dome is impossible and deadly-diseased, even.