Chapter One

Methys' POV:

My eyes flutter open as I hear the patter of the rain on the window. This isn't going to be a good day. I can feel it.

I groan and stretch, hearing an occasional 'pop' in my joints. I can still hear the constant beat of the rain against the window pane, and feel the slightest ache from yesterday's injection against a transmittable virus, one that I've not heard of yet. However, it's better to be safe than sorry. That's why Dad agreed to the injection, though I find that it's unnecessary. It's just the government being too paranoid again.

"Next please!" The doctor thunders from inside the examination room, and a nurse calls out my name. I stand from the plastic seat in the waiting room, my bag slung over my shoulder casually.

I raise my knuckles to the wooden door and knock thrice. "Come in," is the reply. Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart down, I touch the small gray rectangle symbolizing a knob at the right side of the door, and with a beep the door slides open.

The examination room is huge, with dark oak floors and red walls, which are covered in cabinets of different sizes, containing things that make my skin crawl. There are probably needles in there, and just the thought of someone stabbing me with a needle... I shudder. I've always had a fear of needles. Needless to say, I hated injections too. They were just horrid.

A brown desk separates me from the doctor, and as I step in, a few meters away from the desk, I am greeted by a metal plate that sticks out, blocking my way. I remove the bag from my shoulder and place it on the plate. It zooms off, attaching itself in between two cabinets.

"Name?" The doctor asks as I approach. A glass cabinet is behind his computer chair, full of awards and plaques. A computer is located on the wall, showing my medical records.

"Methys," I say softly, pulling out the chair and taking a seat.

The doctor nods, before going through the standard health check - blood pressure and heart rate, signs of infection and myopia.

As the doctor checks me, I stare at him. He looks familiar, like someone I've seen before, but I can't place my finger on who he is.

He has a thick gray stubble covering his chin and silver hair coating his head and down the sides of his head. His eyes are as black as coals, and he has wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"Alright, you're one healthy girl," the doctor chuckles. I stand to leave, but then he calls out for me to wait, and raises an eyebrow.

"It's time for your injection." He states.

"Injection?" I ask, terrified. I didn't want any injection. Then I think back and see all my classmates leaving the room with a Band-Aid plastered on their forearm, some of them with fancy patterns on it.

The doctor nods, and I sit down again, my heart pounding. I don't want to get an injection, I think, closing my eyes.

I recall my parents having to tie me - literally bound me to a chair with rope - to allow me to take my injection. And I'd wail loudly throughout the whole process, and after I'd almost made the chair fall and crush my nose I never had to take another injection again. Instead I swallowed pills, and I was contented with that.

The doctor pulls a drawer open from the far end of the room - he must've gotten there while I was still deep in thought. He removes a cotton ball and some alcohol, along with a needle that was filled with a glowing blue liquid.

I thought all of my friends said the liquid was red. But then again, the constant fear of needles could've gotten me all mixed up.

The doctor canters slowly back to the table, and asks me to stick my hand out. I do, and just the sight of my pale skin in front of me, ready to be jabbed by a sharp, metal, scary needle is enough to make me want to burst into tears.

The doctor empties the alcohol into a kidney dish, before immersing the cotton ball in it, and swiping it over my skin.

I think I may wet my pants at any time.

"Alright, please tense your arm by fisting your hand and stretching your hand out as far as you can," the doctor orders and I comply. He looks for a vein and nods.

"Please look away, unless you aren't scared of needles, and do not panic." The doctor says in a calming voice.

I turn my head and close my eyes. Do not panic, I tell myself. Do not panic.

When the needle pierce my skin I resist the urge to scream. I can feel it, pressed into my skin and it hurts so, so, so bad.

Three seconds later I walk out of the examination room with a Band-Aid pasted on my forearm. It takes a lot of effort to stop the tears from flowing down my face. But, at least I didn't need any restraining today. At least it went better today. I smile at the thought, as my bag is slung over my shoulder the way it was when I entered, and I walk back home, smiling to myself.

I was the best at comforting myself. No one knew myself better than me, apart from my best friend.

Just then, I heard a small sound coming from the front. It snapped my out of my stupor. I realised that it was the hologram. It must be Dad's doing again. He would always want me to watch the hologram of the latest news, though I tell him it's pointless; I care little about the world. Besides, that was how the ancient people does stuff. They would always want to know the latest news. However, people nowadays don't do that, just like me. It's just too troublesome and boring. I wonder how the reporters even have a job.

However, this time was different than the others. The reporter sounded anxious, like the end of the world was coming. I'm sure people in the past used to think that the end was near, but turns out, humans still lived a thousand years later. She - the reporter - wore a frantic look on her face. All around her, there were little black things falling from the sky.

This was probably another hoax about the end of the world again. I swear I hear about it a thousand times each year but it never happens. It's always a lie. People are just so hungry for a tragic, adrenaline-pumping story nowadays, they can even try to fake the end of the world.

"Attention all citizens, there is a heavy shower of black rain right now. According to researchers, the black raindrops are actually black pellets raining from the sky."

A picture pops up next to the reporter's face, and it shows a black pellet no bigger than my thumbnail placed in a plastic bag.

"All citizens are advised to remain indoors." The reporter's voice becomes more hurried and frantic, "Research has been going on and studies show that," the reporter gasps and is momentarily stunned, "the black pellets contain some sort of virus. The advice researchers can give is to stay indoors. Remember, stay indoors no matter what."

And in that instant, I watch with horrified eyes as the events unfold before me, at such a dizzying pace that I have to hold on to the pillow to remain balanced. It happens so quickly that I didn't know if I was hallucinating that or if it was real.

The black rain falls onto the reporter. She shrieks, a piercing wail that cuts into my bones. The camera falls to the ground, its lenses cracking. As the screen goes blurry, I see the darkness of a shadow looming at the edge of a screen and a loud snarl.

The hologram blanks and it brightens again. All that is shown in the hologram are red capital letters in bold:

PLEASE STAY INDOORS.

~*~

I'm caught off guard. This doesn't look like another hoax. Could it be real this time? It didn't look like one of those news to scare the citizens again. The reporter's scream was so real, and plus, they wouldn't risk the reporter's family worrying about her and faking a scream for nothing.

My heart pounds so hard it's the only thing I can hear. The heartbeats are in a fast and irregular pace, If it is real, then...

Dad!

I leap out of bed, throwing my covers off at once. However, when I try to land on the floor and sprint down to the ground level, my legs get tangled up in my sheets and I fall flat on my face on the hardwood floor, the pain radiating from my nose to the back of my skull.

Ouch.

If you ask me, yes, it hurts. It hurts really bad. It happens all the time. And when I say all the time, I mean, very often. At least two times a day. So, I should be used to the pain now right - since it's so typical of me? Well, the answer's no. It's still bad. That's because I have a really, really low pain tolerance level. Even just a minor cut hurts very badly, just like a stab. Well, that's to me, anyways. I'm sure it hurts like an ant's bite to others, like what Erin - my best friend - said.

Picking myself up, I brush away the dirt that collected on my shirt when I landed on the ground.

Ew. Disgusting. I'll just use that new tech. It's easy to clean this dust away.

My head throbs, and hurts. However, it's still bearable for me to stand up and steady myself.

I have to find Dad. I have to know if he's alright.

I push aside all my pain to the back of my mind. I have more urgent matters to think about.

"Dad?" I shout.

No reply.

Oh sparks. Where is he?

"Dad?" I call out once again.

Still no reply.

I rush out my bedroom and down the stairs as fast as my legs can carry me.

Finally, I almost reach the ground floor. However, as I am reaching the end of the steps, my right foot accidentally trips. I slip and fall on the ground with a loud thud. My right hand lands on the ground first, causing it to support the weight of my whole body.

Crack.

Excruciating pain spreads throughout my right hand. Ow. I swear that the crack was real. Maybe I've cracked some part of my hand; or maybe I was just being a worrywart.

I stand up. Flicking my hand, I tested my hand for any injury. Surprisingly, my arm didn't hurt at all. I guess my hand was alright. I was just overreacting. Smiling, I heaved a sigh of relief.

However, that couldn't exclude the fact that I was a super clumsy person. So far, I fell two times today.

And Dad would probably be worried about me too, always getting injured.

Oh wait. Dad!

"Dad?" I called out again.

Where was he? Shouldn't he be at home at this time? I wonder if he's alright. And he told me that...

It struck me that Dad had gone out to run some errands. He reminded me that, like, a thousand times, yet it had slipped my mind. I sure was clumsy and forgetful.

Guess I had freaked out a bit too much. I really needed to quit worrying and think straight.

Raising my hand in the air, a glass shard - the "phone", or TouchCall as we called it - flew over into my palm, and I tapped is surface twice.

I scrolled to my father's name and pressed it, watching as a three-dimensional holograph of my father popped up, and spun around as the TouchCall sent a call message to my father.

The TouchCall just continue to ring. With each sound it made, I felt my heart thump, pressing hard into my throat.

Nobody picked up. Not even a single "Sorry, darling, I'm busy at the moment." I started to panic.

What if Dad had caught some virus they were talking about? What if he already turned into someone I didn't know? What if-

Stop it!

He'll be alright. Please let him be alright.

And that's when the door slammed open, revealing my father.