ARK Survival Ascended

Prologue

Let's go! ARK is back baby!! This a memory of Kyle's past life before the corruption. Hope you guys enjoy!

Word count: 1840

Kyle p.o.v

"Hey! Kyle, wake up!" I heard my friend Ethan Anderson yell while knocking onto my bedroom door. His voice pierced through my dreams, shattering the fragile illusion of sleep. I tried to bury my head deeper into the pillow, but the relentless pounding persisted. It was like trying to sleep through a construction site.

I groaned, my half-asleep brain struggling to process the situation. Why was Ethan yelling at me so early? Was there a fire? An alien invasion? Or perhaps he just wanted to ruin my peaceful slumber. I threw the pillow over my head in a futile attempt to block out the noise, but it only muffled the sound. The annoying rhythm of Ethan's fists against my door continued.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up! Shesh!" I finally yelled back, my voice scratchy from sleep. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and disentangling myself from the twisted sheets. My face was squished by the mattress, and I wondered if I'd left an imprint on it. "I hate school," I muttered, my morning grumpiness settling in.

As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, I miscalculated the distance and rolled too far. With a thud, I hit the floor. "Ouch." I groaned, wondering if my dignity had also taken a hit. Apparently, gravity was wide awake and conspiring against me.

I stood up, still half-asleep, and faced the door. Ethan's relentless knocking had ceased, but I knew he was waiting outside, probably grinning like a mischievous imp. I scowled. I was not ready for this-whatever "this" was-especially not in a million years.

The morning sun streamed through my bedroom window, blinding me momentarily. I shielded my face with my hands until my eyes adjusted. It felt warm, like sitting next to a campfire during the cold months of winter. Maybe the sun was trying to apologize for Ethan's rude awakening.

After some internal pep talk (and a mental eye roll), I dragged myself to the closet. A black T-shirt, red jeans, and a matching red hoodie-it was my standard "I'm awake, but I'd rather be napping" ensemble. My white socks slid on the hardwood floor like I was ice skating. Note to self: Invest in non-slip socks.

As I ran my hands through my tousled, red hair, random thoughts invaded my mind. Why did I wake up? What was the purpose for me to rise from my slumber? Was there a cosmic agenda I wasn't aware of? Contemplating all known reality, I finally made my way to the door.

"Finally, he awakes from his deep slumber," Ethan said, leaning against the hallway wall. His white T-shirt, purple jacket and jeans were a stark contrast to my monochrome morning attire. His open purple hoodie completed the ensemble, and he wore his signature smirk like a crown.

"Shut up, Ethan," I muttered, brushing past him. I could tell he was still smirking because when he popped up beside me, my peripheral vision caught a glimpse of that annoying grin. It was like he had a PhD in smugness.

Together, we descended the stairs, the smell of breakfast wafting from the kitchen. Ethan's mother, Mrs. Anderson, was a culinary wizard. She stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. The aroma of maple syrup and sizzling bacon filled the air.

"Morning, boys," Ethan's mother said as we shuffled into the cozy kitchen. The scent of pancakes and maple syrup enveloped us, instantly banishing any lingering traces of sleep. Ethan and I exchanged smiles, our stomachs already doing a happy dance.

"Morning, Mom!" Ethan chirped, his eyes fixed on the griddle where golden pancakes sizzled. His enthusiasm was contagious.

"Morning, Miss Anderson!" I greeted, my voice a tad more formal. I'd always called her by her last name, a habit I couldn't shake. Barbara Anderson was more than just Ethan's mom; she was the queen of breakfast magic.