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Improbability by aceofSpades44

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I jumped awake as I felt something lightly flop down on my stomach. It was a magazine, specifically a National Geographic, having been thrown down on me by my older brother, Samuel, who was glaring down at me with his dark brown eyes, an open can of Sprite in his right hand.

"What?" I groaned, still half asleep. I rolled onto my side, burying my face in the back rest of the couch I was sleeping on.

"You've been sleeping there for a good two hours already." He growled, picking up his magazine. "Get up." He placed the Sprite down on the coffee table and sat down in the plush reclining armchair. I rolled onto my back again and rubbed my eyes before glancing out the living room window. The window was partially obscured by the blinds, but you could still see the snowstorm that was brewing outside despite it already being dark out. Winter...one of the joys of living in Canada, especially with the five-foot snowdrifts.

It was out there that our dad and step-mom had gone, out to run some errands, including the groceries. That left me and my brother home alone, alone to our own devices. For us that consisted of being "lazy sods" as the british would say.

I heard the pages crinkle as Sam whipped open the magazine, flipping through it as he sat there. If you looked at my dad and me you'd swear that Sam was adopted, his blonde hair and blue-green eyes were a stark contrast to our black hair and brown eyes. He got his features from mom's side of the family. Our mother, who passed away eight years ago.

It would be easy to say that because of our mom's death that I had some kind of tragic backstory. Honestly I have things good all things considered, nice house(even if the heater couldn't handle the cold being this bad), loving family, good group of friends, decent enough grades. I was happy with my life...now that I've said that, keep this in the back of your mind...it comes up later.

I rubbed the drowsiness from my eyes, the sleep leaving a slightly bitter tasting film in my mouth. Or maybe that was my not having had anything to drink in six hours by now. Whatever the case, I was damn thirsty and I needed something to drink, stat.

I got up, the cold of the wood floor seeping through my socks as I stood. I made my way groggily around the couch, still rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from my right eye as I headed for the kitchen. Reaching it I pulled the fridge open and grabbed the first soda can off the door that I saw, it was Iced Tea. I opened it and knocked back the first few gulps.

It was damn cold, and it didn't help that it was almost borderline freezing in here. I had three layers on me right now, a simple navy-blue t-shirt worn overtop a white long-sleeved shirt that read "Vancouver 2010" down the right sleeve and "Believe" written across the front. Overtop this was a zipped-up black N7 hoodie. I wore a pair of thick grey sweatpants and a pair of black socks.

In hindsight I should have probably heated up some tea, well I guess I'm stuck with this can of what felt like liquid nitrogen but tasted like regular old iced tea. Such is life I suppose.

I figured I'd head up to my room and try and curl up in a blanket and play some games on my computer while I waited for the parents to get back. Hopefully Grace'd start a fire, and then I could curl up there in front of the fireplace and read a book or something. I'd have gotten a fire going myself, but the last time I tried I wound up setting my arm on fire. Not on purpose of course, but apparently fire does not like me very much. By the way I forgot to mention that Grace is my step-mom, just wanted to clarify.

My room was fairly messy, at least that would be how it could have looked to an outside observer, I had my own way of organizing my stuff. On the right wall was my bed, big enough only for me, shoved up to the far wall. On said far wall was a single window, off to the right of my bed. It was rather large but was blocked off slightly by two guitars propped up on stands, one electric and one acoustic. On the right wall was a medium-sized dark brown Ikea desk with a built-in shelf. On it I had my laptop and a motley collection of mini-figs and models from various series, or in the case of one model, from a historic period. Built into the wall was my closet, not much else was in there other than clothes. There was the odd article of clothing strewn on the floor, or my bed, not very many people came in my room.

I sat down in front of my computer, flipping it open and browsing through my game library, searching for one that would strike my fancy. Blow up some planets in Planetary Annihlation? Nah, maybe I'll continue my playthrough of Splinter Cell. I leaned back as I watched the game boot up, taking another swig from the can of iced tea.

Something felt wrong as the main menu appeared on the screen, I could feel a presence behind me. Might have been me going crazy, except for the fact that I felt something hit me in the neck. It stung like a son of a bitch, and my left hand shot up to feel for what it was. It was small and cylindrical with a mass of thin bristles sticking out f one end. I pulled it out of my neck, it was a tranquilizer dart, my heart sank. I spun on my chair, looking back for what had stuck it in me.

There, disappearing into thin air, was a man retreating into what looked like a shimmering Stargate vortex. All I saw was his head, and it was obscured by a grey ski-mask and black goggles. He disappeared just before the gate's event horizon closed up. I went from highly concerned to downright panicking.

I turned just as the first waves of drowsiness hit me. I tried screaming for help, but when I tried all I could was moan out low a "Help". I tried to get out of my room, but stumbled and fell, barely able to grab onto the doorframe. I slid down the wall, using my shoulder to brace myself against it. My eyelids were getting heavy, I made another attempt to call out for help, all that came out was a feeble wimper. After that it was over, I fell over onto my side, finally succumbing to the fatigue slowly claiming my body.
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