Prologue

Sirens were heard, doctors alarmed and waiting.

The ambulance truck arrived, from it came two people holding a stretcher with a young man on it.

Doctors surrounded him, trying to find out what was wrong. They removed his cracked glasses, opened his eyes only to find no light in those dark brown eyes, his short pitch black hair was covered in blood.

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“Did he make it?” a blank voice asked.

“He survived.” the doctor said.

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John Ronald, one of the most talented young writers of the 21st century, on his way to a gathering, had an accident which made it impossible for him to continue his dream.

-One year later-

John lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling, alive yet dead on the inside. His accident, long forgotten, yet scars were visible. He got up, thirsty, alone in his home, his footsteps, louder than everything there. He tried to take a glass; it fell, it shattered. He tried cursing but words no longer came out, remembering the fact he could no longer speak, John wanted to cry, but all his tears dried up long ago.

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The doorbell rang, he struggled to open it, in came two men carrying a large round shaped object, it was a capsule.

After the installation was completed the men left, as soon as the door closed, he ran towards the capsule, ready to try it.

Connect to royal road?

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