Arthur was the ruler of a world where he possessed everything.

The king dreamed of becoming a slave.
In the dream, he became a shabby and insignificant laborer named Han Seo Jin.

He worked nonstop in a factor, like a machine.

After waking up from the long dream, the king fell into a state of confusion.

Was he a slave dreaming about being a king?

Or was he a king dreaming about being a slave?

Which one was the dream? Which one was the reality?

「Your majesty. Everything within the dream is a lie. Please do not forget about this.」

[Warning: S*cide mentions, profanity, r*pe mentions, drugs, alcohol, mental disorders, NSFW mentions]
Dr. Plague wants to find some patients, so he goes on a quest to find a patient. Dacie got strict parents. After playing a video game, she got sucked into a afterlife called The Para Verse. Abraxas got banished from Hell and now works for Dr. Plague. What will happen to the three of them?

"Tomorrow is the Mock Battles. I hope you've trained well because you'll be going against other patients and staff, and then... against the King." Dr. Smithe said, ominously. "Yeah! Also, please don't make it as cliche as the last chapter. Like seriously? You're going to just get two young maids, and as soon as you wake up, they have to dress you?!" Clyde said, shaking his head. "Yeah, it's almost like the author ran out of ideas and just found some generic anime with a cool male lead to plagiarize," Danny said, looking straight at the 4th wall, shattering it. "Also, why does this narrator describe things so in detail. Honestly, aren't you supposed to know how to write, to be a writer, and how to describe properly to be a narrator? God, this book is hopeless." Clyde added, smir- Wait... Did he just roast me?! I know this book may be trash and the author might be slow, in both meanings of the word, but... But for me?!?! How dare you second rate, Walmart parking lot brand little s**ts try to mess with me, the one telling the story?!
"Oh, just shut up! You wouldn't even have a story to tell if it weren't for us!" Danny exclaimed. You... Well if we're playing that game then you guys wouldn't exist if the author didn't make you guys. Me, on the other hand, would just narrate another story!!! So I'm immortal!!! (Hey, it's the author, and I'm just here to say if you guys don't shut up and do your jobs I'm going to delete this book and kill you guys with it. I hope you consider what I just said, before this turns into you guy's last argument, Bye.) Everyone in the room was quiet. ... W-Well, let's get to work! YOU GUYS BETTER NOT MESS THIS UP OR I'LL KILL YOU ALL BEFORE THE AUTHOR. *Ahem* Sorry about that readers, the book will start again, don't worry! It's starting in 3, 2, 1!
"Tomorrow is the Mock Battles. I hope you've trained well because you'll be going against other patients and staff, and then... against the King." Dr. Smithe said, ominously. He was leaning against the wall of my room. "Who's the king?" Jonathan said, inquisitively. "He's been the winner for 4 years." Dr. Smithe said, shaking his head glumly. "Why are you so gloomy? He only hurts them until he wins, right?" Jonathan said, a bit worried. "Well, sometimes. Most times, though, he kills them if they're interesting. You're going to be interesting because you can't feel pain anywhere but your head, no matter how normal you look. That's because all those receptors were burnt to a crisp. We could salvage your temperature receptors with our newest technology and with magic, but you can't feel anything, kind of like anesthesia, but you can feel warmth and pressure." Dr. Smithe said, punching Jonathan's arm. His words held true because Jonathan could feel the pressure, but not any pain. "So, what you're saying is, I can feel things, basically, but I can't feel pain?" Jonathan asked. "Basically, yes." Dr. Smithe said.
"Please do your best! Beat them all!" Clyde said, pumped up by the thought of me winning. "Yeah, I don't want to pay another bill to have you buried after your hospital expenses," Danny said, smirking a little. "Well, I hope you fight well, Jonathan. You were one of the only ones who could keep up with Ms. Dreamer, so I have confidence that you'll win." Dr. Smithe said, giving me a thumbs up. "Okay, now it's time for us to take our leave. Good luck, Johny!" Clyde said, walking with Danny and Dr. Smithe out of the room. "Well, I guess I have to go to bed early, huh. I guess tomorrow will be... eventful. Dear mom and dad, please give me strength in this weird world from up there." Jonathan said, putting his hand up toward the ceiling. He then sighed and started to drift to sleep. He had a pretty trippy and terrifying dream. Anyway, he woke up and saw Danny, Dr. Smithe, Anne, Chloe, and finally, Clyde. They were all there, waiting for him to wake up. He was so happy they all did that, so he got out of his bed and hugged them.
Jonathan ushered them out of the room, and then he warmed up and took a shower. He then put on his fighting clothes and let everyone in again. "Hey, guys. Um, Doc?" Jonathan said, sitting on his hospital bed. "Hm? What is it?" Dr. Smithe said, walking up to Jonathan. "Are you sure this is what we fight in? It's just a fancy pair of gloves, a weird collar, some boots, and some pretty short shorts." Jonathan said, motioning to his outfit.  "Why, yes it is! Remember, this event is also to raise funds for the hospital, so we need some eye candy for the people in the audience. Also, if you think this is bad, you should see the outfit that the ladies are going to wear. Hopefully, you have enough restraint to control the.. uh, the little guy." Dr. Smithe said. "What? I'll be fighting girls too? I can't do that!" Jonathan said, ignoring that last part. "John, my boy. You know that you'll have to fight women in the real world, right?" Dr. Smithe said. "Well, yes, but this is just a Mock battle! Jonathan said, sweating a bit. "This is to prepare you for the real world! Also, you don't have to seriously injure them, just hurt them enough for them to forfeit." Dr. Smithe said.
"Well then...  I guess it's fine. Can I meet the participants? It would help me get a gist of what I have to deal with." Jonathan said, hopeful. "Okay. Just know that you're going to have to be skilled in fighting with your human and your monster body. If you want you could try some light training for your monster body." Dr. Smithe said, gesturing to the door. "We can go too and give you pointers," Danny said, smiling a bit. "Okay, let's go," Jonathan said, smirking and heading to the door. When they arrived, the gym was pretty quiet, a rarity. They were there early so it was understandable. There was only the faint noise of the protein shake machine running quietly in the back of the gym. Jonathan walked up to the obstacle course and cleared it easily at difficulty level 6. Danny moved the difficulty to level 8, and Jonathan cleared that too, with only minimal damage. Clyde walked up and put his hand on the level changer lever. "You ready for level 10?!" Clyde screamed, brimming with excitement and anticipation. "Wait, didn't she say not to-" Jonathan exclaimed, interrupted by hearing the obstacle course walls form, trapping him inside. He looked around, seeing the transparent red walls and the obstacles and the floor starting to warm up.
Jonathan started flying, less panicked than the first time, and started to go through the obstacle course. He mostly dodged all the obstacles, and he couldn't feel pain, so he was pretty relaxed, until the mega blasters. He started flying really fast and had to dodge and destroy the blasters at the same time. He got an arm and a leg burned off, and it hurt. A lot. He toughed through it though, and he got to the finish line. He collapsed, turning back into his human form. "MEDIC!!! HELP!!! COME QUICK!!!" Jonathan yelled, taking off his shirt, using it to block the blood, and applying pressure. "Jonathan! Don't worry, we've got the doctor and the nurses!" Clyde said, running to Jonathan. "WHAT THE H*LL WERE YOU THINKING?!" Dr. Smithe said, putting me on a hospital bed and having another nurse apply a spell to stop the blood flow. "I-I don't know! I didn't know that this would happen!" Clyde said, crying. "YOU ABSOLUTE DUMB**S!!! YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN TO NOT PUT IT AT THE HIGHEST DIFFICULTY!!!" Dr. Smithe screamed, enraged. "I-I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!!!! I'm so sorry!!!!!!" Clyde exclaimed, collapsing to the ground and crying. "Please don't be so hard on him. I didn't die, doc. I'm ok, I promise. I know you guys will fix this somehow, with your magic and whatnot, so please lighten up, doc." Jonathan said, placing his hand on Dr. Smithe's chest.
"W-Well then, ok. GET HIM TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM, NOW!!!" Dr. Smithe said, turning to the doctors. "Yes, sir!" The doctors said in unison as they race through corridors, ending up in his room. They finished up with Jonathan's surgery and Jonathan could move everything except his right leg and left arm. He managed to move it up to his face and it looked like a regular hand. "Let's postpone the contest for a week. That'll be enough time for Jonathan to heal completely and get used to his friggin' cyborg body." Dr. Smithe said, clearly unenthused about the whole situation. "Yeah, that seems fair. I'll go notify the others." A doctor with purple hair said as she walked away, a clipboard in her hand. "Wow, you all look really stressed. Are you guys ok?" Jonathan said, sitting up. They all turned with surprised expressions and their mouths agape. "I said I was okay, didn't I? I can start my training now, right?" Jonathan said, excited to start training again. "Yes, yes. All your vitals are fine, but you should rest. You might hurt yourself." Dr. Smithe said, worry in his voice. "Okay..." Jonathan said, starting to go to bed.
The next day, Jonathan woke up and went right to doing his regular warm-ups. It was a bit difficult at first, but then Jonathan got used to controlling his arms and legs. He could still feel a bit in his right arm and left leg, both the other limbs feel like nothing. He couldn't feel hot and cold in those limbs, just pressure. He could feel pretty fine in the rest of his body, besides pain. It was really weird to Jonathan, but he did his warm-ups anyway. He took a bath and could feel the water on his left arm and right leg, but he couldn't feel the warmth of the water at all. It made him feel a bit sad, losing his ability to feel those important things. r. Smythe and the maids walked in and Jonathan immediately asked if he could train. "Mmmm... Sure. Just be really careful, okay?" Dr. Smythe said, patting Jonathan on the shoulder. He was lifting his arm away when Jonathan grabbed the doctor's hand with his cyborg-like hand. "Wait. Why can't I feel anything in this arm? I can feel the temperature in the rest of my body so why..." Jonathan said, clasping Dr. Smythe's hand in his and looking up at him. "W-Well, We could recreate your pressure feeling nerves, but not the others. I... I'm really sorry." Dr. Smythe said, blushing a bit.
Jonathan sighed a bit and then turned to the nurses. "Can we all go to the gym? I really want to train." Jonathan said, letting go of the doctor's hand. "Let's go then!" Anne said, starting to walk out of the room. Everyone followed her and they were in the gym. Jonathan was walking to one of the machines when someone stepped in front of him. "Hey, you!" The king said, looking down at Jonathan.

Dr. Olsen was reading a newspaper sitting at his clinic. When soundly the door to his office was opened and came in boy with white hire. The boy said to him 

Rayner "what are you looking at pops is something wrong" said the small boy after seeing his father frown. 

As the time went by Rayner become less troublesome and little bit more mature. You could just tell form how he was more adapt at taking even though he was four and half years old.

Dr. Olsen "it is noting to concerning yourself with Rayner, something expected would happen, happened is all" he answered the boy.

Rayner "can you tell me pops is it band or good" he asked him in a curies tone.  

Dr. Olsen sighed he did not know how to answer that. The news he was reading was abut Gold. D. Rogers. It says that Garp had captured the notorious pirate king and he was to be executed with in two weeks. Was this a good news or bad news? He held no love neither for pirate nor for the marines. For all he card they could all finish each other of and be done with it. Maybe then the world could have some rest. 

He met roger once in his younger years. Though the man was a pirate he was honorable man. So he did not know how to answer Rayner and only kept looking at the newspaper thinking to himself. The voice of the kid who was tagging him demanding an answer brought him out of his sprout. 

Dr. Olsen "there is news that Gold .d. Rogers the king of the pirates has been captured and will be executed in a two weeks at log town" he said sighing

Rayner "if he is a king pops why they are going to kill him" he said in confused voice.

Doctor Olsen did not know why but he felt Rayner maturing rapidly. Though he still had some naivety of a child he was a bright kid for his age. Olsen Thoth for a moment and side to Rayner

Dr. Olsen "do you want to go and see it"

Rayner thought for a moment looked at his pops and said 

Rayner "yes pops can we really go!!! I want to see this king!!"

Doctor Olsen put down the newspaper and got up from his chair. He felt that the world was heading toward a new era. An era the death of Rogers will lunch. Only god new if it was going to be a better one or a worse one. The door to his office opened again and this time it was the village elder. He came in with somewhat stern look.  He looked at Dr. Olsen and said "did you read the news?"

Dr. Olsen "yes I did" he said patting Rayner on the head  

Elder "what do you think will ensue after this"

Dr. Olsen "why do you ask me?" he asked 

Elder "you could just say it is the mumblings of an old man" 

Rayner just looked at the both of them with intrigued eyes. He did not understand what they meant by this and that. Quite frankly he did not car he was just exited at the prospect of meeting the king of pirates. Dr. Olsen and the elder talked for a while about what will this mean to the world as a whole. After concluding there talk the elder left them alone. Olsen looked at Rayner and told him to get prepared they will be leaving soon for their island. They needed to get some supplies and then it was off to east blue.

Dr. Olsen "the world is about to change Rayner there are lots of things you will see as you grow up you will have to make some though chooses" he side 

Rayne was broth out of his thought by what Olsen said. He started too attentively listen to what he was saying to him.

Olsen "I have done my fair share of bad things in my life to warrants many hate from many people. And some may even call me evil for it. In this world there are people who will following their dream to the bitter end. And there are even some would have no qualms about stepping on the dreams of other people achieve theirs"

Rayner "what was your dream then pops?" He asked 

Dr. Olsen looked at Rayner and smiled and he said

"My dream you said… well my dream died long ago" he side a little sad  

He looked at the Rayner and said "there are many in this world who died following their dreams"

Dr. Olsen "and as for you if you ever find your dreams I just hope it does not lead you to your deaths"

The boy looked at his father Olsen in contemplation to what he said 

Dr. Olsen "get ready we are going to go on a long g journey" he said

After the wrong actions of a god-king, a yang man named Rayner is killed, trying to rectify his mistake he offers him to reincarnate him in a new world with wishes. but what the young man did not know was he would lose most of his memories. 

And so begins an adventure 
======================================================================================
this is just a fanfic i donso i dont own any thing.
this is a one pice fanfic 
expect some bad gramer and some mispaligs 'espect a slow buld up. 
and an iragular up date 

thank you for reading

There was light.

Light everywhere. It wasn't the kind of light from the clinic, not the type that just blinded his eyes. It was light given form, solid and yet in constant, shimmering flux. It was like Marcus was floating through a sea of light.

He pushed his way through the light, sifting through it with wide strokes. Each time he parted the light, he heard voices. Whispers that danced seductively in his ear, loud enough to be heard but too quiet to be truly audible. They were distorted beyond measure and indecipherable at some fundamental level that he couldn't quite grasp.

Even if he could have heard them, Marcus knew he wouldn't have been able to understand them. A gut feeling told him they had meaning, more meaning than anything he'd ever known, but they were utterly beyond his understanding, his basic perception. It would have been like a rat trying to grasp human speech - it would hear the words but never in a million years truly understand them.

Within the light, there was another glimmer. Brighter even than the shimmer around him. There was an instinctive pull within him to reach towards it, and he did, outstretching his hand.

Then he woke up.

Marcus found himself in the same pose he had been in his dream, his arm outstretched. He wriggled his fingers. He could feel. He could move. 

A cursory glance found him still in his hospital bed, but now in a massive complex that almost spanned to the end of his vision. It was tiled from floor to roof in pristine, sterile white. A base of some sorts. There were generators whirring quietly and various tinted glass enclosure dotted neatly about. At the far end of the room, there were multiple massive computer screens built together – a kind of intel room. 

With a slight effort, Marcus pushed himself off the hospital bed. He felt a little woozy, a little shaky in his legs, but generally all right and in control of himself. He had been switched out to a plain white hospital gown, and that somehow made him feel even weaker.

[System booting…]

Marcus stopped, putting a hand to his head. There was a voice there. With little inflection and rather robotic not in its tone, but in its presentation. Audibly female, but impossible to pin an age to. This must have been the artificial intelligence Dr. King talked about.

[Completed. Interface compatibility established, optimization in need. Hello Marcus.]

Marcus was unsure of what to do.

[You may call me System. I sense elevated levels of stress and concern. Do not panic, Marcus. I am here to help.]

"How sentient are you?" asked Marcus. He knew that there were advanced artificial intelligences were possible to create with the right powers, but their construction had been banned due to the many ethical dilemmas they came with. But Dr. King evidently wasn't a man to follow the rules. "And…am I in control here?"

[I would be categorized most closely as a class-5 intelligence. Indistinguishable in function to the regular human being. As for control, do not worry Marcus. Class 5 intelligences operate off of many hard-coded restrictions. One of mine is to ensure your survival and well-being at all costs. Another is that anything I do must require your full consent.]

"Anything you do?" Marcus looked at his hands, wondering if anything had changed about him. "What can you do? King talked about powers. What do I have?"

The sooner he knew what he could do, the sooner he could go out and hunt down the Devilrats.

[To put it simply, you can do everything. An Alter's power derives from the structure and expression of their gene, and I am both gene and gene editor. Tell me what you need in a situation, and I can alter your gene to provide you an ability apt for your needs.]

"That's basically invincibility." Marcus shook his head. "Impossible. There are drawbacks and limitations. Tell me."

[You are quite perceptive, Marcus. There are indeed many limitations gating your power, and for your own health and safety. You cannot take more than two powers at once. Once you have chosen powers, you cannot replace them for six hours. You cannot create powers that are more complex than what would be the equivalent of the E-rank on the official power scale determined by the Alterhuman Agency.]

Marcus digested his system's words. What really put a stop on his strength was the E-rank limit. The agency ranked powers from E to S, and E really was bottom of the barrel stuff. At the highest of the rank were basic abilities like being able to shoot small fireballs or grow sharp horns. 

Not too much to work with.

 [I sense dissatisfaction. If it is of any comfort, these limitations will ease the more we work together. I am a learning system, you see, and the more you utilize my powers, the more efficient I will become at editing your power gene and reading your desires and needs. And the more you use your powers, the more your body will acclimate to housing the gene, thus allowing you to express stronger, more complex powers. Of course, there is a way to circumvent a few of these restrictions.]

"Such as?"

[Should you give consent for me to take over your body, I can operate at peak efficiency. I will be able to switch powers out without the six hour lockout period, though your body would still be limited to expressing E-rank abilities.] 

"Not worth losing control of myself over," said Marcus. 

[You may override my control anytime. It only requires a verbal order.]

"Still not letting it happen."

[I understand your sentiments perfectly. I merely wanted to brief you on all your possible options. Would you like to test your abilities out?]

"Sure."

Marcus waited for a few seconds before he realized he didn't actually know how to summon his powers. What did he do? Think about a power he wanted? How did he even know if the power he imagined was E-rank?

[I sense confusion. Merely dictate to me what kind of ability you need in a very broad sense. If you require, say, stealth, then I will try and write up a power appropriate to your situation.]

"Got it." Marcus took in a breath. This was the moment of truth. When he would finally know what it was like to have powers. To be like everyone else in this superpowered society. "Make me strong. Physically. Let me punch through a wall."

[Certainly. I have written Enhanced Musculature for you.]

The change was instant. Marcus could feel his muscles growing and hardening, rippling and quaking under his skin. He was twenty pounds heavier, a little taller, and most definitely quite the specimen. The hospital gown, which had dangled loose off of him before, stretched tight. 

[Also, please feel free to talk to me anytime. Any general questions or concerns or even if you want to talk in general. I calculate that it would be beneficial for both of us if we were to have a positive working relationship.]

Marcus clenched his fists, feeling cords of muscle tighten and harden in his arm. It was an invigorating feeling, having this power, and he felt excited. Excited to finally give some justice to Sana's soul.

"Where's Dr. King? What is this place?"

[Please note that I am not affiliated with Dr. King. He was responsible for my programming and construction, but as of now, I no longer have any contact with him. But he did leave me a last message for you that answers these questions. He is busy right now, tending to other research elsewhere, and he will be for quite a while. As for this place, it is his underground lab, located discreetly away from any prying eyes.]

Marcus nodded slowly. For Dr. King to have managed to make a hideout like this was extremely impressive. Not only was this highly illegal, but it was right in Sunsky where the main headquarters of the Alterhuman Agency stood. This place was seriously well hidden and the budget for it had to have come from somewhere, but none of those details really concerned Marcus for now.

All he wanted to do was get out there and start hunting, because every moment he spent here was another moment a few filthy rats could keep scurrying about.

[I sense that you wish to leave.]

"And I'm not allowed to, I'm assuming."

[Not at all. Dr. King wishes all the best for you and states that he has no further business with you. He will not keep you at any kind of leash or under any form of surveillance. He does not care what you do with me. He only urges that you develop your powers, and he believes that the best way would be for you to do as you wish. On that note - I sense that you wish to track a few individuals down?]

"You're damn right I do."

[Then we are all on the same page. Your old clothes are piled underneath your hospital bed, freshly cleaned and repaired, as is a Loop Badge. To the right corner of this room is a Loop Gate that will take you to an abandoned warehouse in the Projects Docks. From there, you may navigate as you wish to fulfill your own goals. I will assist you in any way I can.]

Marcus looked under his bed to find not only his suit, but also his mask. His gaze lingered at the mask, lingering at a past that he couldn't bring back. But he could very well avenge it. 

Fitting into his clothes was hard at first, but he realized he could modify how much musculature he gained to fit without stretching them out impossibly. The Loop Badge was a disc shaped trinket that he pinned through his suit jacket, fitting it in with a satisfying click. It hummed a little and glowed with a faint blue light.

With it, he could hopefully use the Loop Gate without getting atomized. 

The Loop Gate itself was a cylindrical tube of ominous black metal. When he approached it, it slid open with a pressurized whir, revealing more blackness within. These were the teleporters the Alterhuman Agency had developed to transport their Masks around efficiently. To prevent misuse from others, you had to have a specialized badge on to prompt the gate to prevent you from disintegrating. 

When the gate doors closed, enclosing Marcus in sheer darkness, he put on his mask. He wanted to be wearing this when he choked the life out of Carlos and his gang.  

Light filled his vision, and once more, he felt like he was floating.

*WINNER OF WRITING PROMPT COMPETITION 63/64*

Marcus Million is an average high school student living in a world that is decidedly not average. It is a world where superheroes and advanced technology are daily occurrences.
 
The only issue is that he's one of the few unlucky people out there without any powers of his own.

When a villain takes everything away from him, leaving him crippled and hopeless, he is offered power in the form of an advanced artificial intelligence chip that grants him the Superpower System.

With it, he embarks on a quest of righteous vengeance.
______________
Update Schedule
1 update per day

You know, I underestimated how hard it would be to write all of this down, though the fact that all of you seem so ready to believe it, and even speculate about what was going on, is somewhat comforting. I have read your comments, and while I can tell you right now that none of you are even close to realizing just how fucked this patient was (and in fairness, you don't even have the full story yet), it's nice to see that people will take a story like this seriously. There might be hope, after all.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Joe's file, and the fact that it basically went dark for four years.

Well, in 1986, the file started up again. It seemed funding cuts forced the staff to make patients share rooms. As such, there was a note from the new Chief of Medicine, Dr. A------, instructing staff to find roommates who seemed unlikely to trigger whatever Joe's condition was.

The staff evidently failed at this. The next memo that bore any content was also from Dr. A------, and was addressed to a Dr. G-----, who I knew as the present Chief of Medicine. It ran like this:

Memo dated December 14, 1986 From: Dr. A------ To: Dr. G----- I don't know whose idea it was to move Philip A---- into Joe M----'s room, but whoever it is, I want them fired. Putting a grown man with such serious anger issues in a room with a boy who's got such a powerful need to push people's buttons was obviously not going to have positive results. So now, it seems we have at least one patient whose family might press charges if they ever found out what their son has been through. I take it you've heard the stories already about Philip needing to be sedated before he could make good on his promise to "kill the little f--king monster." I don't know what this will do to Joe's condition, but I can't imagine it'll be good.

After this first disaster, records indicated that Joe had been paired with someone closer to his age: an eight-year-old boy who'd been admitted for disorganized schizophrenia. This, apparently, had a much worse result.

Memo dated December 16, 1986 From: Dr. A------ To: Dr. G-----

Our insurer will not be happy if we get more incidents like the one with Will A------. The one bit of good news in it, I suppose, is that the autopsy shows no signs of foul play. I suppose Joe's violent tendencies must've been toned down a bit. But even if the autopsy will probably absolve us of any blame, I worry that a good attorney will pick it apart in court. When was the last time an eight-year-old died of heart failure? Check with the nurse and pray we didn't give Will too strong a dose of something.

Joe's next roommate was a girl of twelve who'd been admitted with post-traumatic stress disorder from sexual abuse by her father. There was a note next to the new rooming arrangement instructing orderlies and nurses to periodically look in on the two, because the girl apparently had a tendency to become violent at the slightest provocation. As it happened, she was the one who benefitted from this protection.

Memo dated December 18, 1986 From: Dr. A------ To: Dr. G----- Fire every orderly on duty last night. Except the one who caught them at it. I want him put in charge of the ward. You will personally take charge of Nadya I------'s treatment. Only an expert hand will be able to do anything after whatever that brat tried to do to her. And by the way, find out how he learned about that stuff. If the orderlies are talking about that sort of thing around juvenile patients, they need to be fired or reprimanded. Ten-year-olds might develop urges like that early, particularly boys, but it's not usually urges toward anything that...specific. In the meantime, make sure we put restraints in Joe M----'s room so he can't do anything like that again.

The last roommate Joe had who was drawn from the general population of mental patients was a teenage meth addict who'd developed severe paranoid personality disorder, probably picked because he would've been easily able to overpower Joe if the boy tried to assault him. What's more, as a further precaution against that sort of assault, the two were placed in a room where they could be permanently restrained to stop them from hurting each other. However, this didn't go any better.

Memo dated December 20, 1986 From: Dr. A------ To: Dr. G----- Firstly, have someone look into getting us stronger straps for our beds. After what happened last night with Claude Y----, and everything else that's happened this past week, we're going to need to assure the public that nothing of the kind will happen again. Also, get the orderlies to go over the room one more time, because I am honestly incredulous at the explanation they're giving us. I don't care how paranoid Claude was; there's nothing in that room that could scare him enough to make him chew through several different leather straps, and throw himself out the window. The straps would be hard enough, even with an average adrenaline rush. But to force open a barred window? There had to be something wrong with the bars, or the bed, or the window.

One way or another, though, I mean to find out what that child is doing to make accidents like this happen. Assign any orderly you want to stay the night with him tomorrow night. Make sure the orderly has anything he needs to defend himself -- tasers, batons, whatever. Treat this as a case of a criminally insane patient, even though we can't prove much of anything's happened beyond the Nadya incident. Oh, and get the orderly to take a tape recorder in. If that little bastard so much as breathes, I want it available for analysis.

There was another record indicating where to find the audiotape that apparently resulted from this order. I jotted it down as well. There was one final communication from Dr. A------ on the subject of Joe, and in it, I finally found at least a partial answer for why the staff so despaired of diagnosing this particular patient. But unlike the previous documents, this wasn't a memo. It was a handwritten note, apparently preserved by Dr. G-----.

Dear Rose,

I just spoke to Frank. I think it's fair to say he's not going to be ready for work for at least a month, the state he's in. And you know what? I'm actually going to let him have that time as paid sick leave, because it's my fault he's like that. Can't punish someone for following your own orders. Mind you, if he's not better by the time it's over, we'll have to keep him here.

I've also come to a conclusion: Whatever Joe has, I'm sure we can't cure it. I don't even think we can diagnose it. It's obviously not in the DSM. And given the effect he has on others, I'm starting to doubt if anyone could diagnose him.

You know what? I'm getting ahead of myself. First, let's talk about what Frank told me. He says that the entire night, Joe just kept whispering to him. That's it. Just whispering. But it wasn't a child's normal voice. Somehow the boy had managed to make his voice go all guttural and hoarse, and he kept trying to remind Frank of things they'd done together -- like he knew him from somewhere.

But the thing is, Rose, the things Joe was trying to remind Frank of? They were all nightmares Frank had as a child. He said it was like the monster in those nightmares had been whispering to him all night, saying how much he missed chasing him, and catching him, and eating him.

It sounded outlandish. How would a boy that young know what a 40-year-old orderly used to dream about? So I listened to the tape. And the thing is, I can't come to any other conclusion but that he imagined it. I didn't hear a sound, and the microphone was turned all the way up. What's more, Joe was restrained all the way on the other side of the room, so if he was making a sound loud enough for Frank to hear it, the mic would've picked it up. I don't think he could've disguised it unless he was right up next to Frank's ear and whispering, which is obviously impossible.

Even weirder is that after a bit, I started to be able to hear Frank breathing very loudly. And his breathing patterns weren't normal. It sounded like he was hyperventilating. Like he was having a panic attack, in fact. But I listened to it over and over again, and the thing is, there were no other sounds. At all. So I have no idea what Frank's talking about.

I now know for sure, after this session, and after the one I had with him, that we can't cure Joe. It'll take a better doctor than me to figure him out, and good luck finding one who'll be willing to come work in this shithole. Maybe he'll die in here. But there's nothing we can do.

Rose, you're going to be Chief of Medicine one day. We both know it. We've both discussed it at length. I know you'll be tempted to try to treat him yourself. Please don't. I don't want you becoming a nervous wreck, too. Just keep him here at his parents' expense and feed them whatever story you have to. They're rich enough to afford a lifetime of care. Even if they somehow go poor, find room in the budget. I couldn't have it on my conscience if I knew I'd had him in my care and he somehow got out to cause trouble in the real world with whatever he has just because we failed. Promise me, Rose. -Thomas

After this letter, there was only an official document stating that all therapy with "Joe" would be stopped. He would have his own room, but at the price of being kept restrained in it 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Only a select few orderlies would be allowed in to routinely change his sheets, and only the most experienced nurse would be given the task of administering medication to "Joe." All staff were to be encouraged to stay away from him. He would not be referred to except by the extremely nondescript shortening of his name, so that anyone wanting to find out more information wouldn't know where to start. It was, in short, everything that I'd observed since arriving at my new workplace.

Even so, if I'd been intrigued before, I was hooked now. Here lay the possibility of discovering a previously undocumented disorder -- not merely a permutation of something already in the DSM, but something new entirely! And I had patient zero under this hospital's roof. My choice of residency now seemed almost an act of God. There was just one thing to do now: Listen to the audiotapes I'd seen referenced.

I immediately went back to the file clerk and showed him the record numbers for these, expecting to get them fairly quickly. However, to my surprise, after he'd typed in the numbers on his computer, his brow furrowed in confusion and he walked back into the records without a word. Some half an hour later, he returned looking even more confused.

"There's nothing under those numbers, son," he said. "Never has been. You sure you wrote them down right?"

I was quite certain I had, and anyway, I couldn't risk another trip that could alert him to which file I'd been looking at. Besides, if they had ever been there, it would make sense that they might have been destroyed or removed given their connection to the hospital's biggest problem patient. I faked a tired grin and shook my head at the record keeper.

"Someone's played a joke on me," I said. "Sorry for wasting your time, sir."

I walked out of the records office and snuck discretely out of the hospital. I didn't want to be seen by someone who might wonder what I was doing there on my day off. Besides, I needed time to think about what the file had said before making any sort of attempt at speaking to its subject.

That Joe had started with some sort of empathy-based disorder was obvious. What was confusing was how extreme it was. His emotional empathy -- that is, the ability to feel what other people were feeling -- was obviously nonexistent, if he'd been making people kill themselves and trying to **** a girl before he even knew what **** was. But his cognitive empathy -- ie, the ability to recognize what others were feeling -- must've been unbelievable. Almost superhuman. Not only could he spot another person's insecurities, but he could predict with perfect accuracy how to exploit them in order to cause maximum distress. It was the kind of skill I'd have expected to see in a trained CIA interrogator, not something spontaneously developed by a young child.

More puzzling still had been his apparent shift in tactics right after his disastrous encounter with his first roommate. Prior to that, the numerous therapy records had all indicated that his preferred approach was to induce feelings of anger or self-hatred in his victims. Yet immediately afterward, as if his modus operandi had changed on a dime, he'd switched to inducing fear so extreme it would trigger a fight or flight response. Why this sudden shift in approach? What had happened to change his symptoms?

And that was assuming it had even been him who'd made those feelings of fear trigger. The fact that the orderly's encounter with him revealed only radio silence made the puzzle deepen. I went back and looked at the record of the first roommate. The implication was clearly that Joe had been assaulted. Could that assault have made him have a psychotic break and go catatonic? But then, how to explain the obvious sexual assault of the following night?

These were all questions I knew had plagued Joe's physicians for years, so the prospect of solving them in a single night without so much as talking to him was likely impossible. Still, my mind ran over them again and again long after I'd tried to curl up in bed and fall asleep. Eventually, I drifted off.

This didn't help. Probably because of the reference to the orderly's negative experience, one of my childhood nightmares resurfaced that night. I'd glance over it, only it has relevance to what happened later, so I'd better explain.

When I was six, my dog Marty drowned in a nearby river. We'd been out playing fetch nearby, and in one particularly exuberant moment, I threw the stick so far out of sight that I couldn't see where it had gone. As it happens, it had landed in the river, and there'd been a rainstorm the night before, so the river was particularly turbulent. All of this is to say that when Marty ran to grab the stick, he got swept under by the current, dashed his head on some rocks, and drowned before being fished out a mile or two downstream.

I'd known something was wrong when he didn't come back with the stick, and my parents tried to protect me from the worst of it. However, when they brought the corpse round to the house, I somehow thought I could bring life back to my childhood pet, so I fought to see the body. I still regard the sight of Marty's bleeding skull as one of my early childhood traumas, though I've since made peace with my own role in his death.

But that wasn't true at first, which is probably where the nightmare I'm about to describe came in. In the dream, I was standing on the edge of the river with Marty, but it wasn't just an ordinary river. Instead, it came alive, and started trying to drag me under with long, wave-shaped, tentacle-esque arms. In the dream, I always managed to fight my way back to the shore, but Marty wasn't so fortunate, and I had to watch as he paddled and struggled with the tentacles strangling the life out of him. I wanted to jump in and try to save him, but as is often the case in dreams, what you want to do and what the dream lets you do are different things. As a child, I would always wake up crying at the moment when his shaggy head vanished beneath the water.

But the night after I found Joe's file, there was one more detail that jogged me out of sleep, and that was this: as Marty vanished, I could hear the river laughing. It was a throaty, moist, deep noise that sounded like it came from a throat that was in the process of rotting. I think I must have screamed, because the next thing I remember is my fiance shaking me awake and holding me.

Fortunately, the dream didn't recur that night, and I more or less forgot about it as I returned to the hospital, fully intending to see if there were some way I could get an audience with our mysterious problem patient. However, as I arrived, a new distraction presented itself.

A crowd had assembled around the main hospital entrance, including more than a few people whose cameras and microphones positively identified them as reporters. Immediately curious what was going on, I fought my way through the crowd, only to see a stretcher holding a body bag being loaded into a police van. Now worried, I scanned the crowd for any face I might recognize and spotted an orderly who I'd seen working on the same ward as me. I fought my way over to him and asked what happened.

"Nessie died," he said, his voice so hollow it sounded as if it came from a million miles away. "They're saying she threw herself off the roof last night after making her rounds. No one knows why, but one of the patients says she did it after she'd finished...you know, with him."

Now just as horrified as my counterpart, I reached out and gave him a stiff one-armed hug, as if to reassure him that someone else felt the same thing he did. He didn't react. Apparently, the shock was still too strong.

The McCoys
William McCoy, "Billy", has grown up in a home where hard work is the norm. He was just 10 years old when Barack Obama was elected President of the United States when he refused to go to church on Sundays. He did not believe a word preached to him about 'you can't do this, you won't be able to do that…' All he knows is that the President is proof that anything is possible in America. Billy has been raised by successful parents that still feel they are intruders in a predominately white world. In time though, his preacher has changed his message, so he returned back. At 18 years old, all Billy knows is that a fellow African-American has led the nation. Billy's friends and his girlfriend are all millennials. They are all of different ethnicities; African-American, Spanish, Asian, and White, and they couldn't care less what their parents think. All they care about is themselves. Billy's parents, Denzel and Sherryl McCoy are both stage actors and stand-up comedians. They are among the most popular and beloved artists in the country. Ten years ago, the McCoy family moved to Miami, and then to #12 Paradise Island. They came looking for a better climate than New York. Billy loves to write, especially plays. His talent has just recently been discovered after one of his plays won a Young Screenwriters national award. The award consists of a 2-week run on Broadway, where his play will be a pre-show warmup for the main attraction.
Today, three actors are rehearsing Billy's play and are doing it in front of an empty theatre with the curtains drawn behind them. Later that day, they will have the full audience hopefully eager to experience the award-winning play as a short intro into the night's show.
The director kicks off, "Ok, guys, go…"
Dress rehearsal
"Martin Luther King believed that society's three evils were: militarism, racism, and materialism. Today, decades later, we could easily argue that all of them remain among the most significant threats we face:
1) With events like Russia & ISIS, we see the danger of militarism; 2) With Ferguson, New York, and Orlando, we see the lingering poison of racism; 3) With income inequality, the lack of social mobility, and the lack of a fair shot for all, we see evidence of the darker side of materialism. And yet today, Reverend King's dream lives on and, as the name of this play goes, it is…" "No Longer Just a Dream."
"What if Dr. King could take a look, a peek into what happened to his dream? Well, according to prominent physicists, including Einstein and Goddard, time travel, at least mathematically, is possible."
"We are now in 1964, 53 or so years ago." "Who are you?"
"Reverend, I am a time traveler assigned to you." "A time traveler?"
"Yes, Sir, I have been sent straight from heaven to track the lives of exceptional men like you."
The Reverend looks at the time traveler with total skepticism.
"I have been following you, sir, all the way, but recent events have changed my task."
"I don't have time for this. Now, if you would excuse me!"
Unfazed, the time traveler quickly swipes his hand across and in front of them. Dr. King's key life events flash in front of him in rapid succession. Suddenly, the scrolling of the images slows down, and on the floating image, Dr. King can watch himself speak to a large crowd in Selma, Alabama, in March of 1965. Dr. King states emphatically: "We can do this, we must do this, we will take their power through the vote."
Then, the image fast forwards again, and now Reverend King speaks to an enormous crowd at the footsteps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C: "I have a dream… that all men are created equal…" Then, the images fast-forward again. In rapid succession, Dr. King is shown receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in Stockholm, Sweden; then standing next to President Johnson in 1964, while he signs the Civil Rights Act; then, on August 6, 1965, the Reverend is witnessing the signing of the Voting Rights Act.
"Reverend King, the seeds you've planted will have a profound effect in our country. I have been instructed to take you forward in time for you to observe what happened to your dream." And, before the Reverend can react, the time-traveler is standing with the Reverend on a barren island outside of what appears to be an abandoned one-story prison made of stone blocks.
"Where are we?"
"We are at Robben Island, Sir, it is the Alcatraz Island of Capetown, South Africa. As you can see and feel, it is bitterly cold, humid, and windy. It is a place damned by immense human suffering, like Devil's Island in South America'sFrench Guyana, and Auschwitz in Poland."
"Why are we here?"
"In here, an extraordinary man, following in your footsteps, spent the majority of a 27-year sentence, imprisoned for opposing the racist system of South African segregation…"
"Apartheid?" states a visibly shaken Dr. King, completing the sentence.
"Reverend, let me introduce you to this remarkable South African." They are now in 1993, in a place familiar to Dr. King. Overcome by emotion, he witnesses the King of Sweden presenting the Nobel Prize to a tall white-haired man.
Suddenly, the setting changes and they are now standing inside the South African Congress Building, in the country's capital of Pretoria. "Reverend, it is now May 10, 1994, and this great man is addressing the nation as he has just been elected South Africa's President. Let's listen to what he is saying."
"This is a victory for justice, for peace, for human dignity. At last, we have achieved political emancipation. Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land experiences the oppression of one by another… the sun shall never set on such a glorious human achievement, let the freedom reign, God Bless Africa."
The Reverend  is, at first speechless, then he states, "What  a remarkable achievement, the end of Apartheid through a democratically elected member of the oppressed." He asks, his voice trembling, "What is his name?"
"Nelson Mandela." Dr. King is in a trance, shaken to the core as he holds back blissful tears of pride. The image changes again, and South Africa's Press Secretary answers questions on behalf of President Mandela.
"The National Rugby Team uniforms should be changed to reflect the colors of the majority in the country," states a reporter.
"Absolutely not. We will respect and participate in the traditions and preferences of one another. This will not be a witch- hunt. This process is about unity and integration, and not about dominance or oppression or imposing the will of one, some or even many others."
"Reverend, in the future, you become famous and revered all over the planet. Your ideas and life struggles resonate all over the world. Testimonials of your life and you are all around us. In the United States alone, there are some 650 streets named after you. Also, there are streets, parks, and monuments dedicated to you in Australia, Austria, France, Germany, India, Israel, Italy, Senegal, South Africa, and Zambia, among others."
In front of his eyes, the floating screen moves from place to place, showing his name across cities, countries, and continents. "I wish that I could tell you that I am pleased, but accolades about me are not something I particularly enjoy. I am more interested in what happened to my ideas."
"Well, Dr. King, your ideas and persona have grown significantly over time, and Mr. Mandela is a great example of your legacy. But, the definitive crystallization of many of your dreams took place years later when the improbable, the impossible, and the unthinkable took place. However, to witness that, we need to move closer to home.
"Reverend, we are now in Chicago at the 2008 Democratic Party National Convention. Here is another remarkable man. An African-American Senator is launching his political career nationwide. Let's listen to what he has to say."
"How long will justice be crucified and truth be buried? There is no blue or red, black or white, native or Hispanic, liberal or conservative American, there is the United States of America."
The Reverend is visibly impacted by his words.  "Who is he?" "A Harvard graduate, Sir, specialized in constitutional law, son of a Kenyan man and an American woman from the mid-west who was raised in Hawaii and Indonesia. He is married to another Harvard graduate, and they have two daughters.
"What is his name?" "Barack Obama."
"Reverend, let me take you a bit forward to January 2009, but let me prepare you, sir, it is going to be emotional, very emotional for you."
The Reverend sees a familiar image, the D.C. Mall that runs from the Lincoln Memorial through the Washington obelisk, all the way to Congress. As with Dr. King's very own speech at the same place, 45 years earlier, there is a huge crowd gathered. He realizes it is a lot bigger crowd than what his was.
"There has to be half-a-million people out there."
"Actually, the estimates are between three-quarters of a million up to a million, Sir."
"Why are they all here?"
"Let's get closer and find out Reverend."
They are now standing in the footsteps of the US Congress building. They are now facing the crowd, from the opposite end, which extends all the way to the Lincoln Memorial. The elevated and sizable stage is filled with people. TheReverend does not recognize anyone or the event at first but picks up what the ceremony is about right away.
He asks, "Why are we here?"
Then, as Senator Obama stands up and places his hand on Lincoln's bible, a bolt of emotion overcomes the reverend, sending chills down his spine. His lower lip trembles, his stare is intense and teary at the same time. He is rendered speechless with a tight knot in his throat.
"I, Barack Obama, swear to uphold…"
"Yes, we can… oh Lord, we did it, we did it with the power of the vote."
A new image quickly flashes and is familiar to him. With    a broad smile and in amazement, the Reverend observes: "So, as Mandela and me, he also received the Nobel Peace Prize."
Then before he can react, they have switched to January 2013, while still standing at the footsteps of Congress. The scene repeats itself as the oath of office is being taken. Dr. King realizes that Obama's hair is now sprinkled with white. He pauses, and then it hits him.
"Re-elected?" the Reverend blurts out. "How could that have happened?"
"Well, Reverend, he is a symbol of your success. A more than worthy successor to what you started. Remarkably Sir, he has been elected both times by almost half of the country's 72% white majority, and by a large percentage of Asians, African-Americans, and Hispanics. The whites were the clinchers, they elected him both times, sir."
They are now in Cairo, Egypt. President Obama is speaking. "Let's listen to his speech, Reverend."
"For centuries, black people in America suffered the lash of the whip as slaves and the humiliation of segregation. However, it was not violence that won full and equal rights. It was a peaceful and determined insistence upon ideals… a tradition that has stretched from the days of the country's founding to the civil rights movement, a tradition based on the simple idea that we all have a stake in one another, and that what binds us together is greater than what drives us apart. That if enough people believe in the truth of the proposition and act on it, then, we might not solve every problem, but we can get something meaningful done."
Dr. King is overwhelmed and yet relieved as he stares into the horizon. His face projects a sense of intense satisfaction, realization, and pride.
"It happened, it really happened," he says in a trance.
"Well, Sir, to a large degree, yes, but there is still a lot of work to do. Let me show you, Reverend."
Then the images of the shootings in Orlando, Ferguson, and New York flash by.
"I see," says a circumspect Reverend, then he asks, "How did the President react?"
"Let's go there," says the time traveler.
"Violence is a dead end. We will extend you a hand if you unclench your fist," President Obama states.
"We still have a long way to go," declares Reverend King. "That is true, Reverend, but your dream is not just that any
longer, it is now a reality."
The rehearsal has now morphed into reality for the young playwright.
The audience's applause does not stop. Each time it fades a bit, its pace and intensity are quickly revived by the enthusiasm of the majority. Now everyone is standing. The public wants more than the three actors bowing their heads. Now, young Billy McCoy steps out from between the closed curtains, and the applause becomes an ovation. As he bows his head, there is not a shadow of a doubt in his mind, the President is right, work hard, and all the doors are open for you in America… But, he will soon find out that it does not work exactly like that for all.
Another outstanding and gifted Island resident has just burst onto the national scene – the question is whether his family and he are, for a change, regular people or, as is common on Paradise Island, just one more facade with plenty of skeletons in the closet.

The Crazily Rich people of Miami Beach hold many secrets in their closets. Many have earned their way to the top, others have inherited their wealth, quite a few others have not become rich and powerful in an honest way. The story centers around families living in the exclusive Paradise Island off Miami Beach. Non-stop action, intrigue, betrayal, power, and corruption, all lead by a number of strong female characters. Then there is sex in all shapes of forms as the ever-present pleasure of the rich and famous. 
Cover-Page Design: K GRAPHICS.

THIS IS A DUPLICATE CHAPTER, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER, I AM TERRIBLY SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
James had pieced this all together, finally coming to the surprising revelation that Emma was pregnant with his baby. 
He looked as if he wanted to faint, looking much more shocked than Emma. 
One thing was that if he were to faint, he was in the right place to, being in the palace infirmary and all. 
He was torn apart, confused if this was a good thing or a bad thing. 
But, since both Dr Dexter and Emma were in the same vicinity, he didn't. 
He stammered, barely managing to string a sentence together from pure shock, "S-she's pregnant?" 
Emma looked at James, before looking back at Dr Dexter. 
"Is there really no probability it's wrong, or inaccurate, or…" she trailed off, suddenly filled with panic, knowing the answer. 
They had done it once, only once. 
It was their luck that this had happened and that Emma was pregnant.
As expected, Dr Dexter shook his head. Perishing any other ideas of a mistake. 
"The chances of that are extremely low, since the HCG test is 99% accurate," he explained.
"So, with that, it's almost certain that you're pregnant," Dr Dexter explained, assuming James was the father, which he was. 
Emma gaped. 
She stayed silent. 
James' breath was shaky as he got up from his seat.
"My love, if you'll excuse me, I need a breath of fresh air," he admitted before he sprinted out the infirmary, leaving Emma and Dr Dexter alone in the palace infirmary.
Dr Dexter shuffled his feet, awkward. 
"I'll leave you to process the information, your grace," he addressed, bowing subtly before he left. 
Emma smiled, acknowledging the doctor before she heard the door close. 
She didn't cry, she didn't scream, she didn't overreact like she thought she would. 
Instead, she looked at her stomach, before she murmured, 'I'm pregnant.'
She repeated, 'I'm actually pregnant.'
'I'm actually pregnant with James' baby,' she realized. 
She realized that she was the mother of the child that could possibly be Amaris' future heir. 
Whatever the probability of her becoming queen, it doubled, tripled, possibly increased by tenfold.
Her first instinct was to pinch her arm.
She instantly felt pain.
She cried, "Ouch!" as she realized this wasn't some dream, and neither was her getting together with James. It was a reality. 
She knew she couldn't blame anyone for this, even if a part of her blamed the impostor pretending to be Marcus. If he hadn't fed the two boosters, this wouldn't have happened. 
Emma didn't know whether this was a gift or a misfortune. 
She had always wanted kids, but she and James had never got to talking about it. 
She and James had just gotten back together, when they were both hit with the fact that they were going to become parents themselves.
They hadn't planned their future, and James still had becoming king as a priority. 
He still had his duties as king. 
She had no idea what he thought, or if he wanted to become a parent willingly. 
Yes, their relationship was mostly perfect, but they hadn't gotten that far. They hadn't discussed starting a family together, they hadn't started planning what they wanted for their futures together. 
She blamed herself, knowing she could have taken more precautions to prevent this. 
Once again, she wished her mother was here to console her, although she knew James wouldn't be as irresponsible as her own father. 
He'd be responsible and take care of her and their baby, she knew he would, no matter how troublesome being king got. 
That was proof of how much he loved her. 
She knew he'd change his future just to be with her, just to make her happy, when she suddenly smiled. 
She realized this wasn't a misfortune, how this wasn't unfortunate either. 
She was happy to finally have something to look forward to in her life. Something to distract her from the person trying to hurt her. At the same time, it was quite the sudden surprise, considering she had always wanted children.
She had always wanted to start her own family, the reason being her lack of one. 
She had never had a real family growing up. It was just her, and her mother, before Lily and the Carmichaels were in her life. 
When they had become a family, Emma had never been happier. No matter what her mother and Lily's parents worked as, they were happy. Regardless of the non-existent blood ties. 
With that being the majority of her happiest memories as a child and as a teenager, she longed for a family. It was just that James didn't know of it. 
She took a pillow from the stack she was propped up against, as she sighed deeply, closed her eyes and smiled. 
She cradled her stomach, smiling at her stomach with a glimmer of affection never seen in her before. Not even with James.
It took her this long to realize this was a present, a god-given gift. 
As she came to this realization, she heard the soft creaking of a door. She barely heard it, although she knew who came to see her. 
She felt the infirmary bed sink slightly as she felt a kiss on her forehead. 
He whispered, "I know we never discussed it, but I am more than lucky to be the father of your child, my love." 
"No matter what happens to us, no matter what happens to me during kingship or you during your pregnancy," he whispered next.
He sat down as he waited patiently for Emma to open her eyes and wake up, even if he didn't know she heard everything he had to say and was beyond happy knowing he wanted to do this with her. 
Eyes still closed, she moved, now on her side as she faced James, opening her eyes. 
"I heard everything," she said first. 
James blushed before he smiled.
"Well, I do want to do this with you, no matter what's the outcome," James admitted. 
Emma grinned widely. 
"And I want to do it with you too, James," she said breathlessly.
James said with a smirk, "Although, you do realize there are certain downsides to carrying a child, you know." 
Emma groaned, as James told her of the dos and don'ts. 
"Being pregnant means being unable to eat certain foods, not overdoing it with the caffeine, no alcohol, and…" he chuckled, seeing the look on Emma's face.
"Basically, more reason for you to spoil me and have more a reason for not allowing me to do anything?" Emma asked. 
James pursed his lips.
"I can neither confirm nor deny that," he said, looking away.
Emma poked him in the ribs.
"Just because I won't be able to do much with this baby growing inside of me doesn't mean I'm fragile, James," she said, pouting. 
James sighed. 
"Sure dear," he answered. 
Emma scoffed and narrowed her eyes jokingly. 
"And, one worry on my mind," she said. 
"No, my biggest current worry, actually," she decided. 
"What is it?" James asked. 
"How do I tell Lily, and how do you tell Connor, your mother, and possibly the man that's pretending to be your father?" She asked. 
By the expression James had on his face, Emma knew how Lily treated him. She could be protective of her best friend at times. They were practically sisters. She knew Lily imploded when she saw James. After all, he had broken her heart. He hadn't even noticed she had mentioned there was the possibility Marcus' impostor might be told of their news.
Emma couldn't possibly figure out how she'd tell her best friend the news. 
Unlike when she and James had started dating, she could easily tell Lily the news.
If there was any other piece of news she and James had to share, she managed. 
But this, this was incredibly difficult.
She wondered. 
How does one tell their best friend/sister that you're pregnant with the child of the man that Lily last knew broke her heart? 
The answer was, you didn't. 
Emma had envisioned how she'd tell Lily the news. 
She imagined sitting Lily down before telling her, 'Lily! It's great to see you again, girl! I know we haven't talked for a week since I was still in a coma but I've been meaning to tell you, me and James are back together again, we fixed our relationship and he explained everything. It's a long story and I promise I'll explain everything to you later. Oh, and did I mention? I just found out I'm pregnant with James' child. I'm carrying the child that's to be the heir to the throne of Amaris.'
Only after she imagined this scene playing out did she realize this was a horrible idea, and how badly it could go. Not that she wasn't grateful she was pregnant. She just imagined the millions of ways Lily would react to this, if she'd implode and plenty of other reactions considered.
She silently cursed under her breath. 
'Oh sh-t.'


“I want to make you mine. Just mine. Forever and only.” 

———

Two centuries ago, Princess Madison of Zenovia died to protect her kingdom. Her selfless deed had gotten her reincarnated as the royal’s maid’s daughter hundreds of years afterwards, not being pursued by only one, but two princes of Zenovia. Will she finally get her way and sit on the throne that was her very own birthright?

The competition is getting fierce. Looks like someone will chase Emma if the other two princes of Zenovia won’t take initiative. But who will she end up with at the very end? 

———

“Miss Grey, what can you tell us about your father?” Julius asked. 

Emma furrowed her brows. 

“Excuse me?” She asked. She had never known much about her father, and when she was called to the throne room, she hadn’t expected to be asked such...personal questions. 

She thought Julius was joking, but his serious look didn’t say the same. 

“My mother never told me about him. Other than the fact that he had the last name, Kennedy. That’s all I’ve ever known of him,” Emma answered, unsure of how her father was related to any of this.

The King and Queen gasped. 

She really was the daughter of the late Duke. 

The King explained to the confused Emma what was going on.

“Ms Grey, this ‘Kennedy’ you are speaking about, is the late Duke Kennedy. From what my advisor, Julius, is telling us, you are the biological daughter of the late Duke Kennedy of Zenovia,” he explained. 

Wait, what?

———

NOVEL STATUS: COMPLETED

This novel is purely fictional, and since this book's first chapter takes place around the 1800s, I must clarify that the others take place during the 21st century. 

The cover of this novel is not mine. And a reminder. Hate comments, self-promotion and baseless accusations of any kind will be deleted. Thanks, guys. Author out.



Fox confused. " What did you say?" Dr. Gonzalez cleared his throat. " I said you will be taking part in the assassination of King Hendrix. Fox finally took his eyes off the mirror. " Why would I attempt to kill him?" I have no grudge against him." After all, he made me the commander of The Industrial Elven Empire when I was a broken old man."  What has he done to you?" Dr. Gonzalez placed a huge smile on his face. Well personally, I have nothing against him." " Let's just say that it is time for our empire to have a new, younger leader with a bright future. " Many citizens and soldiers agree with me and want the same thing." For the future of The Industrial Elven Empire!" It is time for our empire to proceed to the next chapter in the book." " Now what do you say?" Will you join us?" Yes or no?"

Fox sighed. This is probably the hardest decision I'll have to make." No." I will not betray my king." King Hendrix is your king as well." He has an extremely long life ahead of him." He will remain the king for at least another couple thousand years before Prince Guy is turned into the new Industrial King." No, if you will excuse me I have some planning to do." I got some dragons to kill!" Dr. Gonzalez turned his head to the side and looked over at Subject 1 and nodded. Subject 1 also nodded. His glowing blue eyes turned red. Subject 1 leaped towards Fox. Fox started grinning. He suddenly turned around and punched the robot in the chest, causing its life core to explode into smithereens from the inside. Subject 1 coughed up a sticky transparent liquid into Fox's face. Sparks were popping out of the robot's eyes and head.
Subject 1's glowing red eyes turned dim and malfunctioned, causing the glow to disappear. The robot fell to the ground and was instantly killed. Fox wiped the sticky transparent liquid from his face with the white bed sheets that laid over on the side tucked away in a corner, sitting on a table. Dr. Gonzalez was surprised to see how easily Fox made quick work of his robot. This made Dr. Gonzalez remember that he did have the power to kill dragons. Fox then looked at Dr. Gonzalez. " Do anything stupid like that again and I will feed your own testicles do you understand me?" Dr. Gonzalez wanted to burst out with laughter. " You don't have to tell me twice. Dr. Gonzalez stepped out of Fox's way. He could see that he was not joking and meant business. Fox walked up to the steel front door and kicked it off the hinges before leaving Dr. Gonzalez's place of business. Dr. Gonzalez started smiling. Shortly the smile turned into a serious face. He then started clapping. " Maybe giving him my Fountain of Youth formula was a bad idea." Dr. Gonzalez shrugged his shoulders. " Oh well." You win some you lose some." But just remember this Fox."
" I always get the last laugh. What Dr. Gonzalez meant by this was that he laced and mixed a highly lethal poison called Expunged that had the power to kill everyone in the Industrial Elven Empire including King Hendrix and Prince Guy some of the most powerful people. All Dr. Gonzalez could do was sit and laugh. He shoved a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his lucky silver lighter.

When Fox left the lavatory he started smiling and rejoicing by jumping up and down like a little kid. As he was doing this, whispers were filling the crowd that was walking by. As he looked at them they started pretending like they weren't talking bad about him. Before he reported back to King Hendrix he would go back to collect his money out a nearby bank he hadn't visited in or a century. He walked across the street turned a corner and took a right. The bank that stood in front of him was the largest bank in the area. The Industrial Bank, owned by King Hendrix's younger brother Arsenio who accumulated a net worth of 700 million dollars. Fox walked up to the golden doors and pushed them open. The Industrial Bank was empty except the bank tellers who were just staring into space with drool leaking out of their mouth.
Fox sniffed the air and smiled. He could smell vanilla air freshener. Fox walked towards one of the bank tellers and was about to start talking before he was rudely interrupted. " Please stand in line, sir." "It's very rude to cut in front of the people who've  been standing for here in line hours." Fox was confused. He started scratching his head. He turned around and sucked his teeth. " What the hell are you talking about?" I'm the only one in line."  Sir, I will not ask you again." Please wait at the back of the line." Fox was furious. He smashed his fist on the marble counter and waited at the back of the invisible line. 20 minutes passed. Fox was ready to crack at any moment. The bank teller closed his mouth and wiped the drool away. " What can I do for you, sir?" I will like to take out all the money in my bank account out. " Excellent." Wait here until I get your papers." Fox was tired of waiting. While he waited he decided to take a quick smoking break. He was clearly aware of the no-smoking sign. However, he didn't care. He was afraid of anything or anybody. When he struck his cigarette he started laughing.
Just when he was about to shove it in his mouth he heard footsteps approaching. The footsteps were making the entire bank shake and rumble. The loud footsteps belonged to a bank security guard, a cyborg made from dead flesh. Fox looked up and saw the towering security guard. " I am sure you're well aware of the no-smoking sign sir."  Fox sucked his teeth. " Yeah am I."  If you are well aware, I suggest you put out the cigarette in this establishment. The ashtray and garbage is over there." Go to it." Fox continued to smoke. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled the smoke from his nostrils into the security guard's face. The security guard grew mad and tried to grab Fox by his neck. He easily dodged the security guard by swiftly moving out the way. Fox leaped into the air and landed on the security guard's back and ripped out some cables that stuck out of his head. 
The cyborg security guard started screaming as his system started malfunctioning. Sparks were being sent everywhere. The cyborg collapsed on his knees and smashed his head into the ground, causing a small crater. Fox jumped off the cyborg's back by backflipping, landing perfectly on his feet like a cat. The bank teller came to the counter with Fox's papers. The bank teller handed him a pen and patiently waited for him to finish signing. After finish signing, Fox handed him the papers. He had to wait another 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, the bank teller came back with a sack of gold coins. 20 thousand gold coins. Fox smiled and lugged the sack of golden coins on his back. As he approached the door, someone stopped him.
 An executive. Arsenio. " Excuse who are you?" Fox sighed. He sat the sac on the ground. " Why do you care?" " What do you mean?" This is my place of business and I have the right to know whoever enters my place of business." So tell me." " What's your name?" " My name is Fox." Arsenio scratched touching his chin. Fox?" Like the war hero?" Fox nodded. Yes." Hmm." Well that''s all I wanted to know." You may leave and continue on with your miserable life. Fox took the sac off the ground and left The Industrial Bank.

One fateful encounter with an extraterrestrial being leaves a man named Cross with inhuman powers and abilities. What will Cross do when he finds out international criminal organizations and government agencies want to dissect him and use the powers of the being for their own evil use? Join the adventure!!!!!!!!!!

( Devil Doc )This word the person who saved her life 8 years ago but lost his father , to her . The person who always been at her side , even when see was in a deep sleep. Dr. Chung Xia. One of the best and youngest doctor in S City. Also known as most handsome doctor in China. He completed his education 3 year's ago while taking care of LinChe .
Lola..Lola ....Lola what happened...
Riji and Lun kept calling her again and again but LinChe was deep into her thoughts.
" Sorry guy's ! "
" It's ok Lola ,btw when will Devil Doc arrive here ? " ,Ai Lun asked her in existing manner.
" Maybe Tomorrow,I guess", LinChe answered her in soft tone.
While teacher entered thr room with a boy and girl along with her. Both of them were Memeber of Big shot family from S City , Zhan Lu and Mo Hauling .
Both of them introduce themselves with the confident and Charming aura. At the time of Zhan girl's in class seems to be excited and as well as boy's at Mo Hauling time . Mo Hauling was the 3rd most beautiful girl in S city ,where as Zhan was the 2 most handsome boy in S City.
where as with there family request teacher introduced them in very Charming and Honorable way in class.
Where as LinChe 1st most beautiful girl of S City , Ai Lun 2nd beautiful girl received the normal welcome. Also Riji was 3 most charming boy of S City believed in normal life received so many gifts and letters in the morning. 
On the Other side in America ,Dr.Chung was attending meetings with the most famous Brain specialist of the world , Mr.Luka Richardson .
" Chung , It's been 5 years as she is getting the dream is that true ? Also looking at her report's it's seems like the memory blockage is getting spread . We need to take her under surgery between four months , otherwise it will be be too late. But there are so High risk she may even lose her 5 years memories,it means she will start her journey again you can say that." 
Dr. Chung was looking concerned and worried,but as he managed to overcome his thoughts," Ok Dr. Luka I will try my best , I won't let's Little Girl ( LinChe ) To suffer more ." 
" Chung what is your relationship with that girl,I never seen you concerned about anything . " This question made Dr. Chung to think in more Deep as he replied," She is the most Important person for me in this whole Universe."
" I see , Good luck to for your future Xia " Dr. Luka greeted Chung Xia with a mysterious smile . " Thank for your valuable time Dr. Luka "

Life Of Miss Shu is a story of LinChe Shu youngest daughter of Shu family . Where she meets with a attack 8 years ago, which leads her into Deep Sleep for 3 year's. After her she comes back from coma her family founds that the Girl has lost her all memories. Where Chung Xia her personal doctor who lost his father 8 years ago in the same Attak he promised to his father at death mouth to take care of LinChe till his last breath . Where as LinChe discover some horrible secret of her family and about the attak 8 years ago when she was 7 . She decided to find the secret of her grandfather death .

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