Chapter 1: 1. What the Hell are You Doing?

In the grand scheme of things, Timothy's life wasn't playing out very well. His parents had died, or maybe they didn't, maybe they just abandoned him on a park bench and never looked back. But Timothy was an optimist, at least I didn't die on that bench! He thought. I would hate to die in a public park!

Another woe in his life was his current place of residence, which was Mr. Graham's Home for Unwanted Children or MGHUC if you don't feel writing it out every time it comes up. If you have seen any movie that has ever been made that featured a sad-looking orphanage, then you know exactly what the place looked like. Of course, Timothy had never seen a movie and thus assumed that having a giant hole in the roof of your bedroom was a normal thing.

Ah yes, the giant hole in Timothy's roof could be considered one of his many problems, but he didn't mind it all. With MGHUC being overcrowded, he had received the privilege of having his room be the attic, or at least that's what Mr. Graham had told him it was. Timothy thought it was lovely, except when it was raining, snowing, hailing, thundering, or any type of weather besides sunny, but other than that it was amazing! At night when the stars were out and it wasn't one of the aforementioned weather conditions, Timothy liked to lay on his back on the cold and mildewed planks that made up the floor and just admire the sky. He thought it was so amazing, how all the stars just hung there in the sky like they were being suspended by stings, he wondered how far he would have to reach to touch one of them. Of course, most of the stars he was looking at had already burned out and died, but it would ruin his day if anyone told him that.

But the most pressing issue was that Timothy was turning eighteen, which under normal and sane circumstances wouldn't be a problem. But at MGHUC they had three strict rules that had to be followed:

1. Do not answer any questions regarding the tax returns of the last three years.

2. No housing for children eighteen or older.

3. Do not speak to the police or use the words 'Gambling-Ring' within 30 yards of the premises.

It was the second rule that Timothy was most concerned about, even though he did have a few questions about the other two. His birthday was coming up soon and he was about to be kicked out on his own. This frightened him, he had never really been on his own before, unless he counted the time that he was abandoned on a park bench but he barely remembers that, so he chose not to. It felt like he was jumping into the maw of a big cold world that was going to swallow him hole.

He really had no idea how the world worked; the education system he was put in had utterly failed him in that regard. He knew the basic stuff, like how people drive around in cars to go to jobs and make money which they would use to survive and buy things, but the specifics puzzled him. Like how does one even buy a car when they need to have a job to make money but need a car to get to work while also needing money to buy a car? It felt like he was missing a step somewhere, but he was hopeful that he would figure it out quickly. At least he could assure himself that he knew all the numbers in Pi and the year Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

Timothy rolled over onto his side in his bed- well it wasn't really a 'bed' it was more a bunch of blankets cobbled together in the shape of a mattress, but I digress. He sighed deeply and spoke out loud, "I don't want to be a Negative-Nelly, but I have a feeling I'm screwed."

No one answered him of course, because he was alone in an attic, but deep down inside Timothy wished that someone would. It would be nice to have someone tell him what to do now, but his family were probably all dead and the only guidance he got from Mr. Graham was 'stay out of the basement or I'll kill you dead.'

He stood up and walked over to a mirror, there wasn't a lot to look at. He was skinny and lanky; someone had once told him he looked like one of those inflatable dummies at a car dealership and he would have agreed but he had never seen one to confirm. His clothes were tattered, and his shoes were too small for him now, but he didn't seem to notice. Atop his head, his blond hair was nearly muffled by all the dirt that was tangled up inside of it. Timothy had tried to clean it, but he slept in an attic and these two facts were at odds with each other.

Despite all his problems and woes, Timothy couldn't help but smile at himself in the mirror. "At least I'm breathing!" He declared happily. "That's all I can ask for, really!"

It was at this moment that a triangular-shaped object flew in through the hole in the wall and clobbered Timothy in the side of the head. He fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes that were made out of brick, unconscious immediately. Ricocheting, the object tore right through the blankets of the bed and embedded itself deeply into the wood of the floor with a thundering 'thump!'

It took Mr. Graham a good twenty minutes to react to the sound, he was too busy cursing his one pair of sevens compared to the opposing full house to act quickly. After his humiliating loss, he picked himself up and walked up the stairs, each step bending the boards to a concerning angle. When he finally reached that attic, he was annoyed to find that one of his older boys was laying face down in front of a mirror with a little stream of blood coming down from above his ear.

"What the hell are you doing?" He demanded; his voice gruff with the sound of ten years of chain-smoking.

Timothy did not respond, he was unconscious.

"I said, what the hell are you doing?" He repeated.

Again, Timothy was too unconscious to respond.

Fed up with this clear challenge of his authority, Mr. Graham walked over to the body and shook him violently. "What the hell are you doing!" He shouted as more of a threat than a question.

Now Timothy barely managed to wake up, it wasn't the shaking that did it but rather the smell of smoke and alcohol. "Is there a fire?" Timothy asked, barely able to open his eyes.

That was three times that this boy had so rudely ignored him. Mr. Graham stood up and dropped Timothy on the floor with a huff. "That's it!" He shouted and wagged a boney finger in the boy's face. "Now you listen, and you listen good!"

Timothy tried his best to comply but the immense pain coming from the side of his head plus the horrible ringing noise in his ears challenged him in that front.

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"I don't care what the documentation says! Your birthday is today, which means you're out of here!"

"But I thought it was a week away." Timothy responded startled. "Oh god, how long was I asleep for?"

Mr. Graham waved him off, "God, your helpless." Lazily he produced a napkin from his pocket and tossed it to Timothy. "Clean yourself up and get the hell out!"

Timothy was confused about what that napkin was for until he felt the dampness on his ear. "O-okay." He said because that was the only thing he could muster at the moment.

With a huff, Mr. Graham stormed back down the stairs to go lose another round of cards. Timothy was rather stunned, both physically and mentally. He padded down the side of his head with the napkin and was surprised to see how red it turned. "If I'm bleeding, I'm still alive!" He declared, but even his optimism couldn't make his current situation any less awful.

After the bleeding stopped, which thankfully it did, he dragged himself over to his bed and tiredly flopped down on it. He was alarmed with a pain shot through his spine and he jumped up like the floor was made out of live wire. Something sharp had poked him in the back, and he was pretty sure his bed wasn't supposed to do that. Looking closer he realized that there was a strange, triangular thing poking up from the floor.

He reached down and tried to pull it out, but it was stuck in there pretty tightly. Using his feet and the entire weight of his body, which wasn't a lot to be honest, he heaved as hard as he could. The thing came loose and so did his footing and both went flying in the air. Timothy landed on his back and the object landed on Timothy. "Ouch!" He cried as it smashed onto his chest.

With such a close view Timothy noticed how the thing was like nothing he had seen before. To the touch, it felt like metal, but its black exterior looked like it was made of plastic. He held the triangle closer to his face, was that a rumbling that he heard? He had heard the same sound in library computers and generators, that was the sound of electricity!

Suddenly one of the sides of the triangle slid open and a red light shot out directly into Timothy's eyes. He held out a hand to block the light as it moved down from his eyes to the tips of his toes and then back up to his head. After a clicking noise, Timothy noticed through the cracks of his fingers that the light had now turned green.

"Candidate Accepted." A small voice inside the machine chimed.

"What?"

The triangle started to float above his chest and a second later it started spinning around and around picking up speed. Timothy felt like he should probably do something, that seemed to be the best course of action. But what to do was escaping him at the moment, so instead he sat there at watched with his mouth and eyes wide open.

"Please, touch the device." The voice sounded from inside the spinning triangle.

Timothy jumped to his feet and looked around looking for anything to help him know what to do. "Wouldn't that, uh, hurt?" Timothy asked. "You're spinning really fast; I've stuck my finger in a fan once and I don't want that feeling to happen again!"

"Please, touch the device." It repeated.

Timothy looked down at his fingers where his left index had a little scar. "I dunno."

"Please, touch the device." Although the voice was mechanical Timothy could sense it was getting impatient.

Timothy looked around at his room, or what used to be his room until today. He only then realized how empty it was, he barely had anything to his name and now that was also being taken from him. He looked back at the spinning triangle, to his wonder it had begun to glow in bright warm light- almost like a star. "Well," Timothy said quietly as he reached out his hand. "I've got nothing to lose!"

The second his hand touched it Timothy was sent spinning around and around. But he wasn't in his attic room and he wasn't anywhere recognizable anymore. He was in an ocean full of fish made entirely of eyes, he was in the middle of a forest where the trees were all hollow and dead, he was spinning through a world made of gold and through statues that reached to the sky and were constructed entirely of glass. Colors flashed as his eyes hazed over and his stomach turned upside down. He felt like a pinball game being played in a tornado, but as soon as it happened it stopped.

Timothy was somewhere new that definitely didn't resemble his old room. In front of him stood three people his age, all wearing surprised expressions on their faces. Timothy knew it was polite to say hello when meeting new people, but when he opened his mouth nothing but bile and puke came out.

"Oh god." Someone said. "Here we go again!"

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