1 I'm Fucked.

"Ugh."

I held my head and moaned as I got up from the cold floor, groggily. My head was hurting pretty bad and it was ringing like a quiet bell. Everything also looked blurry.

Shaking my head to ease the ringing and pain, I rubbed my eyes and looked around. I was in a fairly large dark blue painted room that had a comfy well-laid bed lying on top of a black carpet that was spread in the middle of the room, extending almost all over the dark blue floor.

There was a clean table and desk on my right together with a computer setup close to it and bookshelves filled with thick books. On my left were walled wardrobes that covered half of the wall.

Behind me were windows that lead to a balcony and through it, I could see the moon hanging in the dark sky.

The whole place was neat, clean, and smelled nice, only polluted by the sweat that had made my clothes stick to my body like glue.

Everything seemed normal but the problem was, I didn't recognize it. It wasn't my room...

"Where the hell am I?" I muttered as my eyes set on the desk, that had one side occupied by empty and half-empty bottle of pills.

Suddenly, my eyes widened in shock and fear and immediately I took a step back but I fell on my bed. I rose up almost instantly and almost tripped again as I moved to the door on the right side near the bed, my eyes darting around in caution, my body alert.

I remembered where I was, or where I was supposed to be and it certainly wasn't in the room of obviously a teenager.

I recalled walking to my car after an evening lecture on Enzymology, late at night after everyone was gone, and then being abducted.

They sent me outside of campus, into the nearby woods, and...and...shot me to death?

Now confused, afraid, and unsettled, I walked to the bed and sat on it. My elbows settled on my knees and my moist hands held the sides of my face. The scene of the masked assailant pressing the trigger, the muzzle on my head, played in my head.

I was shot and killed, meaning I was dead. But it didn't look like I was. There was no way I could be saved.

I was attacked in the middle of the woods, away from everyone and there was no possible way the police would find and discover my also around that time.

And even if they did, even the best Brain surgeons in Accra, would not even be able to patch me up before I would eventually be flown all the way to Switzerland or the US for another operation.

I was killed and I was supposed to be dead. That was the logical way things should've turned out but it wasn't. Immediately, fear settled in and I started shivering, almost about to panic as I realized the implications of what was going on.

"Fuck, what the hell is happening here!? Dad, Mark, is this some sick joke!? If it is, you've won okay so please come out!" I yelled in panic and gritted my teeth in both fear and anger, my eyes darting everywhere again to find any trace of my siblings or father.

When I got no response and realized how quiet the whole place was, a mirthful laughter came out of my mouth and eventually, it turned into deranged laughter, as if I was mad.

"...Hahahahahahahahahaha..."

I laughed for a while and came to a stop when default programming eventually kicked in. I took a deep breath and exhaled, expelling all the unwanted fear and emotions, reaching an icy calm.

It was obvious that I wasn't going to find any answers sitting around here so I made my body relax and looked over the room. This time absorbing any piece of information or data I could see.

The first thing that became clear was the state of the room. The architecture wasn't familiar, everything looked Western, like North American Western.

I should know because I had lived there before. But the funny thing was that I couldn't remember anything like this in any of my father's properties abroad, and I had been to all of them.

My eyes then settled back on the desk, more specifically, the drugs on it. A frown drew on my face and I got up and moved to it.

There were some open notebooks with some mathematical scribbles I couldn't understand, some university-level textbooks, a small portrait of a young Caucasian boy and a beautiful Caucasian lady, and finally, the drugs.

They were Adderall and some other unfamiliar mental enhancement drugs and by the looks of it, most of them weren't legal.

Seeing enough, I bent down to open some of the drawers but something caught my eye. It was a small mirror standing on top of the nightstand close to the door.

Something told me to check it out and so I left the desk and took a few steps to the stand. Taking the mirror, I raised it to my face and I was immediately horrified by what I saw.

So horrified that I froze in place and just looked at the image projected to me on the mirror's surface.

What I saw was a pale white young man with messed up wavy blonde hair, electric blue eyes, an angular symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and dried pink lips.

It wasn't my face that I saw, I did not even recognize it. It was too alien. I thought maybe I had gotten plastic surgery so I checked my arms and almost cursed when I realized it was also white, something my brain forgot to pick up when I used it to hold my face.

Everything was so surreal and confusing and not wanting to go through another outburst, I took a deep breath and slowly put the mirror on the stand. Then, once again, I sat on the soft almost bouncy bed.

The room was cold but I could feel my head sweating so I ran my fingers through it and feeling the weird texture of it, I stopped and put my hand on my lap.

A chill blew through the windows, washing over me, and I sighed when I came to a Stark conclusion...

...I was fucked. And not in a good way.