ALTERED HISTORIES ERA
POWER GAMES ERA
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I shall die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."
The scene opens to a dark room with a man dressed in a simple uniform laying down on an old mattress with a simple bedsheet wrapped over his form, his eyes were closed as he moved around in restless sleep..
A bright flash appeared.. then everything changed..
The scene changed to a large corridor filled with bright lights and marching figures, who pushed along in a ceaseless wave towards an open doorway - heavy breathing and the beating of one's heart doing nothing as attempts to run back are met with futility, the crowds simply sweeping over and carrying one away like a living tide.
After a few agonizing minutes which seemed to drag on for eternity the crowds stopped and one fell to a cold metal floor, the crowds quickly forming a massive line in front of a tall building.
Looking up with wide eyes one tried to get up, shakily, having barely gained a sense of direction - only for an armored figure to appear in front of oneself:
"get up!" the figure roared, causing one's heart to beat faster as one struggled - yet the effort was exhausting.
"GET UP!" the figure roared once more, suddenly a flash of pain flooded one's body as a heavy baton smacks against one's back - causing one to fall back to the ground.
"GET UP!" the figure repeated as one struggled once again to get up, looking up pitifully - only for a heavy boot to collide with one's face.. an instant flash of pain.. then darkness..
The next scene began slowly, one's eyes opening in a blur - taking a few moments to adjust as a few glances reveal metal walls either side of oneself: caging one in a windowless prison - no sign of anything other than a small door that was barely large enough for a man to crawl through and sealed shut.
A feeling of dizziness overcomes one's senses, clutching a pounding head, slowly rising to one's feet as the growling of one's stomach remains oneself of hunger once again growing, several days without food having made one more than aware of this sensation.
Looking around the room one calls out:
"..hello? ..anyone? ..hello?".
Yet no answer came, the silence deafening as one ran over to the door and pounded on the metallic surface repeatedly:
"..hello!? somebody!? Help!"
Silence filled the air, causing one's heart to race.
The silence was now like a dagger, tears beginnng to form in the corner of one's eyes.
"..Citizen 18690.. congratulations.. I have found use for you.." a voice echoes across the room.
Suddenly the door swings open and several mechanical tendrils enter the room, wrapping around one's arms and legs - the pressure feeling like it would crush them at any point and making struggling painful: yet fear made struggling impossible to avoid.
One of the tendrils extended behind one's head and clamped down - forming a suction-cup over the back of one's neck.. instant fear struck as one shook madly.. yet it did nothing..
The feeling of tiny needles penetrating skin burned into the back of one's neck as the device injected circuitry straight into the skin, the feeling of foreign matter entering the body terrifying to say the least.
Then as soon as it began the suction-cup released itself, the tendrils removing themselves from the room and releasing one's shivering form back onto the cold surface of the room..
"..you may leave when ready, Citizen 18690.. do not loiter.." the voice echoes across the room, the small door remaining open.
Unable to think straight one rubs the back of one's neck, flinching at the still painful mark left behind - after a while one crawled out of the room, fearful of doing otherwise..
As one left the room one was greeted to the sight of a huge complex filled with machines and soldiers, a grinning man stood waiting near the door as one emerged:
"..well done, kid.. you made the cut.."
Suddenly the figure lashed forward, the glint of a blade before one's eyes - then sharp pain as a deep wound is made over one's right cheek, clutching the wound with one hand one stares in horror:
"..don't worry.. just a Grunt custom.. after all.. can't let the enemy draw the first blood.."
With that one sees two uniformed troops come forward, lifting oneself off the ground as the grinning man takes out a small flaming device:
"..now this may hurt a little.."
Suddenly the scene shifts to black as the figure awakens, a cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he tosses the bedsheets on the ground and sits up on the mattress..
The figure rubs the back of his neck, feeling a scar where a bar-code implant had once been branded to his skin, his memory flashing back to the Dramon home-world:
Arbiter walked up to the soldier. "You may be just a soldier..."
Arbiter pressed two fingers to the barcode-like tatto on the back of the man's neck. "But you are not merely a 'number'. You are worth more than that. Any leader who cannot see this does not deserve to be called a 'leader'."
The figure smiles ever so slight at that memory, as painful as it was - his hands instinctively shifting to roll down the large scar on his right-sheek as his memories once again wandered:
"I agree. You are Kindle, who will spark a revolution.." the voice of the Dramon leader proclaimed.
"..someday.. I promise you.. the revolution will come.." the figure said quietly, getting up as he began to rummage through an old rucksack.. taking out an old picture of a young boy and his parents, stroking over the image of the woman and child:
"..someday.. I promise.. I will find you.." he says.