Authors’ statement:

“What inspired us to write, funnily enough, was our immense love for LEGOs and science, which we would further by building characters, aliens, and even entire worlds for our figurines, in addition to regularly visiting tourist attractions like the Griffith Observatory and the California Science Center. Fast-forward to now, where every day we get up at 6 am to continually develop what is now a two-hundred-page science fiction novel titled Charles Clone.”

Synopsis:

The story follows a boy who travels back in time and gets abducted by aliens after searching for his missing parents. He is thrust into a strange alien war, where he learns to finally free himself of the horrors of his past, and soon discovers that all is not as it seems. The dark and gritty 200-page novel explores themes of resilience, grit, and trauma.

Chapter I: The Winston Mansion

July 15, 2096

“Two weeks since the disappearance of renowned astrophysicist Jane Singh and her ex-husband Zain Clone, and still no news of their whereabouts,” the broadcaster relayed from Charles’ phone for the umpteenth time. “However, new evidence seems to suggest that the two might have vanished somewhere around the Winston Mansion. Police will be investigating the scene shortly. Now for the local traffic and weather report…”

Charles peeled his eyes from the screen and sighed. Still no news, huh? How could his parents just vanish — poof — leaving nothing, nothing to ease his tireless search, not a single clue? Police will be investigating the scene shortly… Why not now? Were two prolonged weeks of agony not enough to fulfill “shortly”, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean? Didn’t they realize just how hard it’d been living the past half-month without a clue of what in the world could’ve happened?

And, to make matters worse, the two of them had gone missing… together. His parents had never gone anywhere together for nearly a decade now, not since their divorce, and as far as Charles was concerned, it’d been better that way. But now that they were both gone, he realized that he would rather have them both, estranged and quarreling and all, than to have neither at all.

So here he found himself, amidst a raging thunderstorm, clutching his skateboard and sopping in rain. He was at the gate of the wretched Mansion itself, his eyes alert and his muscles tensed — braced to meet whatever it might be that had cost him his parents.

Charles Clone was an eighteen-year-old boy of Indian descent. A pair of piercingly dark eyes — eyes full of a fearful alertness from needing to be on a persistent lookout for tormentors — brightened his otherwise uninteresting brown face, and his black hair parted this way and that in no particular fashion. He sported a rather thin physique that perfectly proportioned him for regular beatings in the dreaded alleyways of his neighborhood in downtown Los Angeles. So, naturally, concealed in the pocket of his rugged jeans was a defense for such ambushes.

As he pocketed his phone, his hand brushed against it: the mahogany switchblade – a necessity he wielded with him wherever he went. Was it illegal? Yes – but it’d proven to be a necessity nonetheless. He’d had to use it before, and he figured it’d be quite some time before anyone tried to mess with him again.

And boy, he could not have been more wrong about that.

He surveyed the fence — high, but he’d climbed higher before. Then he tossed his skateboard and vaulted over. The building was formidable — three stories of white bricks off of which a dimming, faded moonlight shone. No windows were to be found.  His arm trembled in fear, but in excitement as well… Finally, finally, finally, he was going to unveil the loom of mystery that draped over his parents’ disappearance. Never before had he felt such anticipation.

He rapped his knuckles against the door.

Then he realized: he hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was to do should someone come answering the door in the first place. After all, what could he do? Threaten them? He fingered the curved, polished switchblade in his pocket again. Well, he did have a weapon — might as well use it.

But that seemed too harsh. Ask them? Hi, I don’t know if you watch the news, but my parents went missing around your place. I was wondering if you knew anything. That somehow seemed even worse.

Fortunately, such measures proved unnecessary.

For no one answered anyway.

He grasped the cold brass of the doorknob. Hesitated… then turned. The door creaked open. A fading light glimmered from the depths of the opening.

Before he entered, Charles Clone took one last glance at the sky — at the world. If he went missing like his parents had, he might never see it again.

And what if — he arrived at the horrid realization — what if…

They were dead? Would it really be worth it, then, coming here?

Yes, he said, banishing all doubt from his mind, livid with himself for having such thoughts. Of course, he must do this. No amount of tears would be worth anything if he didn’t. And if they were… well, he’d make sure he was certain before jumping to conclusions. He couldn’t fathom the prospect of living the rest of his life awaiting parents who might never return.

Finally, he slipped inside. Blackness obscured his vision. But he could still feel. And what he felt repulsed him to his very bones. Creeping along the floor like hundreds of snakes were tangles upon tangles of wire. He felt a peculiar vibration under his feet, and he peered down to find himself standing on a square white tile the size of a television. It seemed to glow, to pulsate, ever so slightly. He stooped over to analyze when —

A swirling vortex of blinding light clouded his vision. Flashes of white and ear-shattering whistles flooded his senses. A burning sensation shot through his body — a spike of adrenaline jolted to his brain. The light grew brighter and brighter — it had completely enveloped him now. The whistle was intensifying by the millisecond, hurting, paining, splitting his ears. It was as if every inch of his body was being stretched from head to toe — tearing him, ripping him apart. He tried to scream, tried to call for help — for his parents, for anyone — but the pain was just too much. He shut his eyes and plugged his ears as he was thrust to the ground…