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mmiuraserran Maria :)
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Hey! If you like my stories you should know I'm on the hunt for a beta reader for a sci-fi novel. If you're interested, let me know! Here's a sneak peek: Chapter 1: Athena

Search for beta reader/editor

Hey! If you like my stories you should know I'm on the hunt for a beta reader for a sci-fi novel. If you're interested, let me know! Here's a sneak peek:

Chapter 1: Athena

I'm being chased, can't breathe, and it isn't my fault. Well, it may kind of be my fault.

Of course, this is one in the morning on a warm autumn night; what you do, have done, or plan to accomplish at that time doesn't count against you at this time. Ever.

Well, unless you go to jail, but that's completely different. People judge you because of jail.

I wouldn't be able to bare those judging looks from everyone in court, or as the guardsmen would drag you back to your cell. Good thing I don't ever have to worry about that.

It's only because I was rude to the "rebels", or at least that's what they call themselves.

In my opinion, it's just a fancy word for being poor, then people wouldn't judge them as much as they already do.

Before you think I'm a horrible person, just know it isn't about being lower-class, per se, it's about lacking opportunities.

If somebody doesn't even have enough cash on them to become adapted and start new-life on Mars, you can believe me when I say they're completely useless.

That's why I get on their nerves. Not because I don't like them, I just think they're a waste of space. Ha! Space. Get it?

The only problem is I might have to dial down the teasing, since I'm so close to fully adapting.

Only three weeks until I'm done! I squeal audibly thinking about this, breaking into a breathy cough.

The only downside is that it makes it really hard to breathe when running, really hard to move in general.

Today is my lucky day, though, because I come across a beautiful platinum blue Porsche with the windows completely open. I can just slide right in and stick a bobby pin in the key hole.

I'll get home about an hour before I usually do and wouldn't be so out of breath. I hop in and begin fiddling with the golden pin I pulled from my hair.

I never seem to find ones that blend into my hair shade right.

"Hey! You in the blue Porsche," one of them calls out, "I hope you crash and burn!"

At first, I'm baffled by whatever they thought that "insult" was, still fiddling with the pin, until they begin throwing stones.

The realization that I might die tonight strikes me more brutally than the rocks strike the Porsche. And, trust me, the Porsche is nearly giving in.

I step on the engine as hard as I can. I feel my shirt grip to the car seat with sweat and my hair fly back from the wind and speed.

Once more I stomp on the engine with all my strength, then realize the gas is running out. With my house in sight, I barely have time to brake the car.

I look in the rear-side view of the mirror, and see that, of course, I've already lost them.

I brake the car and, barely before it comes to a full halt unlock the car door and stumble out of the car, tripping on the cement along the way. Instantly, I realize my mistake.

I'm not allowed home while my mom is with her business partners, but the chase was more intense than I thought it would be.

Not thinking about it twice, dizzy and with a scraped knee, I founder to open the back door to my house.

I try to make no noise as I come in, but completely collapse near the hollow part of our staircase. I crawl underneath the staircase and begin to take deep breaths to try and remain uncaught.

For a moment I try to resist the temptation to eavesdrop, but quickly remember I don't really care about not listening in.

Within a few seconds of pondering, I begin to pay close attention to what the scientists are saying.

"But are you positive no one would discover?" a feminine male's voice asks.

"For the last time, Dr. Caleb," a masculine, strict female's voice barks. "The plan is already in session. There is nothing we can do about it, even if there is a chance someone would discover.

It's the subject's own fault for not reading the legal agreement closely enough."

Paper ruffles, and I wonder what they may be doing.

"Just look! Clear as glass! Those are all of the chemicals we put into the pills and vaccines, and no one even bothered reading and looking into them."

"Mrs. Dimitri, I agree with Dr. Caleb. This is murder. My daughter's side effects are still not fatal, so I assume nobody else's are either.

Isn't there anything we can do to reverse this?" a familiar, comforting female interrupts.

Papers slam down violently on the glass table, producing a soft echo. "If you care more about your daughter than the rest of the world, Mrs. Wright-" I freeze. That's my mother's last name.

I'm unable to concentrate on sounding out mumbled voices anymore, and begin to focus on my breathing. Oh, how I'll miss breathing, eating, drinking water; just being alive in general.

All those wonders have simply been ripped away from me in two minutes, being chased by some poor people, hidden under a staircase, and with a scraped knee.

I have to focus, though. Perhaps this is all just a big misunderstanding, or possibly a practical joke. The more I think about it, the more it begins to make sense.

I'm sure my mom loves me, otherwise she would have abandoned me a long time ago. She's the head scientist at the age of 29; imagine how much more she could have accomplished without me around.

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