More Than Scrap

Chapter One: Lars

“Wake up, Lars,” I hear, my ears ringing.

Around me, machines whir and tick. When I sit up, a blinding white light burns down onto dark skin. My skin? I’m told what skin is inside my head, which leads to more questions. The world contorts, and my body fidgets on a cold slab of metal. 

“What’s he doing?” a female asks.

“He’s updating. The last two broke at this stage. Let’s hope he makes it through.”

“Don’t hope. Pray. You can’t take out another loan for parts. And I can’t hold this room for you any longer.”

Information. This world’s—Hethrth—floods into my brain. Its rulers. Its customs. Its discovery. Its people. Everything. There’s a jolt that runs through my body, and I stiffen. What am I? Why am I here? Why was I not born through a vaginal canal? A system message displays in my mind.

Error.

“Penny, hold him. He’s having an existential crisis!” the female cries.

Calloused hands grab me. Penny smells like coffee and smoke. The woman’s grasp is gentle. Comforting. I can’t smell her. She doesn’t smell like anything.

“Lars, I’m going to sync with you.”

I’m ruptured by a pain in my temples. A stabbing sensation followed by a voice. The woman’s. She calls for me, but blackness envelopes me, and everything is cold.

“Lars!”

I stumble through the darkness, unable to tell where I’m stepping. There’s nothing here.

“I want to help you. Follow my voice!”

I run, dread pouring out of me as my gut swirls. I don’t want to be trapped here.

“I’m right here, Lars!”

I see her! A lean woman swathed in angelic light waves at me. Is she God? My angel?

I know humans have always believed in beautiful angels, but there are books from eons ago that recall their true appearance to be grotesque. She must be an anomaly because she’s gorgeous. I lunge for her hands, for her warmth. She’s shocked by the gesture, her bright hazel pupils widening.

Her name slips from my lips. “Twillow.”

She smiles—her brown face indenting with dimples. There’s a birthmark on her right cheek shaped like a flame ember. Heat rises in my chest. Am I burning because I’m touching something so holy? Are the stories true? Twillow’s dark, curly hair waterfalls down her back in waves. I glance at the soft hands I hold. Pink nail polish over bitten nails.

Why am I being blessed with her presence?

Tears seep like tree sap from Twillow’s eyes. “Welcome to my world, Lars. I’m glad you made it. You’re my last hope.”