Takeover || (Completed)

The Beginning

Lucas Michael Ross walked out of the university for the last time ever. He was the kind of person who, when you saw him, would look different from everyone else. He had curly brown hair that was trimmed relatively short, and he had piercing grey eyes. He had light skin and a round jawline, almost making him look feminine. He was lean, though he didn't like to show it, and was just under six feet in height. He had finally gotten his degrees in politics and economics and was ready to chase his dreams of becoming a politician. His friend, Niki, was allowing him to stay at her place while he surfed the web for jobs. 

As he walked away from the University he thought about how he had spent the last three years of his life working fifteen hours a day. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the rapidly accelerating object travelling towards him at fifty miles per hour. He was knocked unconscious before he even hit the ground...

Luke only managed to capture glimpses of doctors doing their best to keep him from slipping into the void. All he could feel was a sharp pain in his diaphragm, ribs and muscles. Actually, all he could feel was the pain. Every square inch of his body screamed in pain. Then it went away as his vision slowly darkened, and he could feel himself slipping off.

Luke woke up heavily. He didn't feel pain. He looked around him. A drip was connected to him. Where am I, he thought. He eventually realized he was in a hospital. What happened to me? His questions and thoughts outnumbered the number of stars in the universe. After ten minutes of waiting, someone came in. As she looked at him, her expression changed from one of neutrality to that of shock. She immediately fled the room and arrived a minute later with half a dozen extra doctors. They explained everything to him. Once they finished, he was dumbstruck.

"I've been in a coma for two years?"

"Yes."

"I was. Hit. By a car."

"Yes. Because of that, your body is deteriorating. Mainly your abdomen, but also other parts. Unfortunately, this deterioration means that you have a maximum of five years left to live."

"What about my brain?"

"Strangely, it was relatively undamaged. You only had a mild concussion, probably from hitting the pavement."

"What's the minimum time I have left to live?"

"Twelve years."

"This is a lot to take in. When can I be released?"

"Around a week."

"Also, one more thing."

"Go on."

"I'm in England, right?"

"Well, yes."

And with that, the Doctors left the room and Luke was left to himself. He had nothing to do, nothing to think about (apart from the realization that he only had a few decades left to live) and no one to see. At first, Luke felt nothing. How are you supposed to react when you find out something like that? A few hours after the Doctors had left and the clock struck twelve, the outside twilight doing nothing to improve Luke's mood. He slammed his fist into the thin pillow he had been given as he talked to himself whilst beginning to cry. 

"This wasn't supposed to happen to me," he mumbled as he slammed the pillow against the wall his bed was next to, "I had a life. Why couldn't this happen to someone else?"

He spent his days waiting and occasionally repeating his crisis from the first night. Normally, the days were more boring and tedious than the time his brother gave him the 'talk'. Luke had always wished his parents could have given it to him. Unfortunately, they died when he was five, in a car accident. Daniel, who already had a job in construction, took Luke under his wing for the rest of his childhood, steering Luke clear of their abusive uncle.