Chapter One: 

“Hm,” The doctor muses softly under his breath, “You’re looking pretty healthy. And you said you are eating right…” 

He’s a nerdy thing with large black glasses, a strangely shaped bowl cut, and skin paler than mine. His fingers are curled tightly around the sides of his clipboard, knuckles a ghastly bone white. He takes a small step back, gesturing for me to stand. 

I nod and slide off of the examination bench. 

The sound of my bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor fills the room and the doctor shuffles towards the starch white door. 

“Now it’s time for your annual check.” He smiles, almost nervously, and steps into the bleached hallway. I follow close behind. 

Once a year, all the residents of Crescent City are required to lie in this large tube-like pod. There, we are to be exposed to a large amount of radioactivity and nuclear activity. Due to the effects of World War III on our atmosphere, we are unable to go beyond the clear dome that shields Crescent City. It’s constructed out of special material made in space, called Solaris. The pods are designed to help our bodies grow accustomed to large amounts of radiation, so we will eventually be able to go outside of Crescent City. 

I wind my arms around my small, almost naked body and shiver. The thin, flimsy little blue hospital gown does little to fight against the chilly air around me. 

“Here we go.” The doctor opens a door and steps inside. He steps aside and holds the door open as I step inside. 

The room is large, starch white like everything else in this part of the city, and filled with at least a thousand Activity Pods. He points to one and allows me to move forward in front of him. 

The clear Solaris-front lifts. 

I stare inside it. 

The white cushions that surround the pod are decorated differently. Usually they're arranged like old tanning bed lights, inserted with little pockets of the air outside the dome. But these cushions remind me more of a coffin, presented like a piece of paper and are pinched together in certain spots behind little buttons. 

“Go ahead.” He ushers me inside it. 

I lift my leg and climb into it. Struggling to keep my face indifferent, I lay back and fold my arms across my chest. 

“Don’t breathe.” He warns, even though I’ve heard the instruction a thousand times before. 

We are not supposed to breathe for the first minute of the operation. They do not tell us why and I’m not entirely sure what happens if we do, but I do know they teach us from infancy how to hold our breath for more than two minutes, just for this. 

I inhale slowly. 

The top closes. The doctor’s face becomes a blur of color and my senses intensify. I am suddenly aware of the crisp, artificial air that fills the pod, streaming through the small fake-buttons. The sound of the air swishing through the tiny vents seems to amplify in my ears, blocking all coherent thought. 

I close my eyes. 

My heart still beats. The gentle thudding grows louder with each passing second, pulsing viciously behind my ears, and yet my chest is still. 

And I begin to fade. 

*~*~*~*~*

When I come to, the back of my eyelids are a bright yellow -meaning I am looking directly at a light of some sort. Carefully, my hand lifts and feels around, but I don’t feel the top of the Activity Pod. “Is it morning already?” I yawn sarcastically. My eyelids are still glued shut as I start to sit up. But no one laughs at my remark. Instead, everything remains eerily silent.

Something tugs at my right shoulder, dragging it back down as if someone is trying to pull me back, and my eyes snap open.

At first, all my eyes can focus on is a small silver circle. 

It is surrounded by a mass of dark root brown and black. I go to turn but something snags on my front, and I realize I’m wearing a strange sheath of some sort –almost like something one of those old-timey video game characters wear. 

Standing, my fingers curl inch back and bump against something hard. I frown and grip the leathery handle, pulling a sword free. It is a thick, wide buster sword-almost as tall as my 4’ 11 and as wide as my torso. 

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, a small crease forming between them. 

The sword is not heavy, at least not as heavy as someone would assume a sword of this size should be. I was expecting it to weigh a ton. 

Yet I feel like I’m wielding a feather. 

My grip on the hilt tightens. I spin around, lashing out at the dead tree I was resting on. The blade slices clean through and the tree crashes against the gray ground. Leaves rustle in the dry wind and I relax my stance, jade eyes shifting from the sword in my hands to the strange, charred forest around me and then back again.  

“What’cha got there?” 

I spin around. The tip of my new play toy is aimed at his jugular. His eyes -a bright electric blue- widen and pale lips part in silent protest. 

“Who are you?” I growl. 

“A friend,” He blinks. 

“I don’t know you.” My eyes narrow, though he does seem vaguely familiar. “And you have to know someone in order to be their friend."

He chuckles softly and relaxes a bit, finger lightly pushing the blade away from his throat. "I didn't come here to hurt you, I promise. I just figured you'd like a little company since you seem lost." 

I glare at him stubbornly, "I'm not lost." 

"Oh?" One of his eyebrows lifts, "So then you know where we are? Then thank you for volunteering to show me the way out of this strange forest." He closes one eye in a wink. 

My jaw drops, "What? I never said that!" 

"You said you weren't lost, though," His head tilts to the side, brows furrowing in confusion, "And since I am, I assumed you could help me out-"

"Well, you assumed wrong!" I sheathe my sword, arms folding across my chest. "I have no idea who you are."

"Jasper."

I blink, "Excuse you?"

"My name," He laughs, "Is Jasper. Now you know me." 

A dark scowl twists onto my face and I bark, "You’re still a stranger; stranger-danger." 

Whirling around on my heel, I begin to walk. My shoes crunch against the strange, yellow grass underneath my feet and, for the first time, I realize I am actually wearing clothes; a small, black t-shirt, some short, matching black shorts, and black converse shoes. My hair is tugged back, held out of my face by a rubber-band and strands of cherry cascade over my shoulder to my ribcage. 

My thoughts whirl around wildly, like a tornado, but I try to ignore them, choosing to focus on my surroundings instead.

I look around as I make my way through the trees in an attempt to figure out where I am. The trees are all burnt, charred obsidian, and some look like they could crumble at the slightest touch. The grass is yellow, dead, and brittle.

Something crunches behind me.

"Why are you following me?" I sigh heavily, pausing to glance back over my shoulder. 

Jasper beams cheekily, his arms folded lazily behind his head. But he says nothing. His bright eyes shimmer in the small rays of sunlight that beat down on us through the bare tree branches and thick layers of cloud. I shoot him a heated glare.

“What’s with the frown?” He inquires finally.

“Nothing,” I look away, trying to distract myself from the playfulness in his eyes. The tips of my ears burn and I rub at them anxiously. How is he doing this to me? Why am I blushing?   

A sly smirk flits across his features and he taps my nose playfully, "You're cute." 

He straightens and starts walking again. I blink several times, shocked. Then I let out a disgruntled sound and rush after him, "And you're very straightforward!" 

"I try to be." He flashes me an amused look. 

I stop walking and stare at his back. Frustration boils inside my core and my nails dig into the heels of my palms. Who is this stuck-up jerk? 

Who does he think he is? 

And then it hits me.

My stomach drops through my feet and I stand there, rooted to the ground. My eyes are glued to the back of his head, jaw hanging open dangerously. "Well, are you coming?" He slows to a stop, glancing back to look at me pointedly. 

I point at him accusingly, "You're Jasper King." 

He blinks and a slender blonde brow lifts, "And... what’s your point, exactly?" 

Words fumble around inside my mouth. They dance along my tongue, dying to be set free, but I can't find the strength to move my lips and say them. 

This is Jasper King; the 'King' of music as most of the teenage girls inside the city tend to address him as. 

He's the teenage heartthrob who came to light two years ago, inspiring hope in every young girl's heart and providing some sort of entertainment for Crescent City, while others work for a way to fix the air outside the Dome. He is Kayla’s, my best friend's, ‘future husband’. 

"I don't like you." My mouth finally works starts to work again and my eyebrows furrow.

He looks momentarily stunned, "What?"

"You heard me!" I scowl at him, "You are annoying! I'm so sick and tired of hearing your name!" I throw my hands up into the air and turn around, starting to walk in a different direction. "You're all my best friend talks about. It's Jasper this, and Jasper that. All I ever hear is, ‘Oh Scar! Did you hear about Jasper? Apparently he bought some new pants yesterday! Isn't that exciting?’" 

When I’m finished ranting, my hands fall to my sides and curl into tight fists. Kayla really does talk nonstop about him. It is pathetic and really, really annoying. 

I know more about Jasper King than I ever really wanted to.

And I don't even like his music. 

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with my name! You don’t have to keep saying it like that." He pouts and appears before me in a flash. I run him over. My nose hits his chest with a painful thump and I jerk back, hand flying to my face, "Owe!" 

He freezes and then begins to panic, "Oh gosh, are you alright?" 

"No!" I shout at him, tone nasally, "I'm still talking to you, aren't I?" 

Jasper takes a small step back, eyes wide. His lips twist into a pout and his expression becomes something wounded. "That really hurt, love." 

"Don't call me that." I snap, still nursing my nose as I whirl around to stalk away from him. I don't think my nose is broken, but it sure does hurt. Crunching sounds emanate from behind me and I close my eyes. He is following me, again. 

I grit my teeth and try to ignore him. Every sound he makes, however, seems magnified. His sneakers crunch against dead grass. His white and purple plaid button-down shirt floats softly in the wind, open wide to reveal a dark black tank-top. 

Every stupid little breath he takes echoes inside my head, bouncing off the inside of my mind, and it is driving me bat-shit crazy. 

Finally, I slow to a stop and turn around to say something. My mouth opens, but a voice cuts me off. 

“Sebastian?”