"What the FUCK?!" A clear, aggravated, and genuinely distasteful growl trampled over the collective voices of the students in the room, if only for a second. It came late, as if someone were sleeping and had awoken to a friend explain in detail to them what had just occurred. It was a rather formidable young man from which the voice came, and he stood up from his seat in between a pair of instantly timid individuals who curled up into their seats.
I don't know this guy seemed to be their silent chant. The man was at least six feet tall and built like an I-beam, as if his musculature just screamed, "try to hurt me!" His shoulders bore several indiscernible tattoos in latin, and a heart with some female's name printed across it. Most notable of all, however, was the black bandanna that hung over his lower face, covered in prints of white bone and rose petals. All that was needed for him and his black tank-top was a motorcycle, and he'd suddenly seem a lot less out of place.
His scowl brought the bandanna up to his eyes, and his whole body tensed with testosterone. Was he even under 18? No one at the time dared question it. His string of curses and incoherent ranting silenced a large swathe of the elevator, but those further away still managed to hold a conversation underneath the vocal tyranny. His complaints were shared with most people there -that was for certain- but the manner in which he expressed it was clearly unneeded; such opinions were clear in the displeasure that painted over his audience.
On several occasions he looked down at someone nearby and directly asked them personally, assaulting their very person with loud words. "The fuck is this shit?! This can't have been allowed by the gov! Fuck those guys! You hear me?!" It was as if he was asking specifically for recognition, as if the others might not have shared his sentiment. To anyone perceptive enough, it was plain as day that behind his tough stature and loud voice, he was quite scared himself.
Others vocalized the same in a more discrete manner. Already some began to seemingly declare some sort of fruitless war on the staff, as if they could procure enough power to earn themselves a better stay at the Academy. Some cried. Some changed very little. Most were quiet, and a few chattered more sanely and intelligently among their new comrades. It was common knowledge, at that point, that strong friendships were going to be a requirement if one wanted to push along safely here.
The girl in the shoulder cape -likely a teleporter given the direct stare given her by the soldier-woman who had entered prior- kept to herself for a good while, eyes trained to her feet and the relative dirtiness of the elevator floor. She had failed to notice the lack in cleanliness. Just another danger sign she could have used to predict the future, she supposed, not that leaving the elevator was an option. Timid as she appeared to be, the girl eventually lifted her gaze to look about the room, eyeing each group and individual as if appreciating their worth. Really, though, she was simply scanning for a good group to weave herself into. If this was anything like a prison, you needed friends.
The girl rose from her seat and followed just behind Shane, believing it to be a good and slightly less awkward chance at introducing herself when someone else did the same before her. She came from behind Shane and jolted her own introduction in just after his, hoping no one would really notice that she was completely separate from Shane.
"And I'm Madeline," she interjected quietly. Her hunched and loose posture nearly forced her to the floor as the elevator suddenly decelerated, and the lights outside began to be discernible from one another, rather than a continuous stream of light. Beyond the glass, a large bulkhead door and platform at its feet grew closer and closer. The tiny figures of two soldiers standing at its sides became visible, as well as the formidable pair of guns mounted on the tunnel's sides. The room locked into one final place, and the doors opened, followed by a brief but deafening buzzer. The way and demand was clear.
Students shuffled about one another back to where they had placed their luggage, and quietly rolled or carried it outside, stopping themselves dozens of feet away from the soldiers standing watch. As the last body stumbled out and into the crowd, the soldiers pressed a few buttons on electronic pads revealed from their armored uniforms, and the elevator doors closed before being sent back the way it came.
From the ceiling, a pair of spinning yellow lights signaled danger as a five foot tall set of bars formed behind the gathering, serving as a makeshift barrier and halting them from stepping backwards; and rightfully so. As the elevator disappeared into the horizon, the whole ground shook violently, and the tunnel beyond began to shift. One by one, the tunnel separated into countless individual tubes, and each descended one after the other atop their own pillars. What was once a transit passage of steel made way for a impossibly vast atrium dominated by hanging skyscrapers and permeating metal pathways. The platform they stood on hung from some unseen building miles above the closest flat surface, which was itself but a small dot in the sky-land they stood within.
The crowd understandably, then, scrambled away from the extreme drop, compacting the students together as the ones at the front refused to walk closer to the soldiers. The yellow lights spun still, and the soldiers maintained their position as the bulkhead doors -seemingly meant to fit stampedes of elephants- twisted open in a circular pattern, making way for a large, multi-floored room.
And upon the rails lining each floor -swinging, sitting, lying, planking, or simply standing- stood countless other students already waiting for the new arrivals. Their faces were a mix of anticipation, fear, disgust, anger, and apathy. The new kids had arrived. The new blood. The scene couldn't have been less prison-like, as if the students with their luggage in tow were being sized up by the veterans, soon to be assimilated or ostracized by the culture that undoubtedly gripped their new home. Students leaning on the rails laughed, pointed, smiled, winked, glared, spat, cursed, hailed, growled, gestured, danced... one in particular mooned the arrivals briefly before high-fiving a friend of his.
The buzzer roared again, and the soldiers gestured for them to enter. Above the bulkhead doors, a large, wide monitor displayed in clear white letters:
TOWER 89F
I don't know this guy seemed to be their silent chant. The man was at least six feet tall and built like an I-beam, as if his musculature just screamed, "try to hurt me!" His shoulders bore several indiscernible tattoos in latin, and a heart with some female's name printed across it. Most notable of all, however, was the black bandanna that hung over his lower face, covered in prints of white bone and rose petals. All that was needed for him and his black tank-top was a motorcycle, and he'd suddenly seem a lot less out of place.
His scowl brought the bandanna up to his eyes, and his whole body tensed with testosterone. Was he even under 18? No one at the time dared question it. His string of curses and incoherent ranting silenced a large swathe of the elevator, but those further away still managed to hold a conversation underneath the vocal tyranny. His complaints were shared with most people there -that was for certain- but the manner in which he expressed it was clearly unneeded; such opinions were clear in the displeasure that painted over his audience.
On several occasions he looked down at someone nearby and directly asked them personally, assaulting their very person with loud words. "The fuck is this shit?! This can't have been allowed by the gov! Fuck those guys! You hear me?!" It was as if he was asking specifically for recognition, as if the others might not have shared his sentiment. To anyone perceptive enough, it was plain as day that behind his tough stature and loud voice, he was quite scared himself.
Others vocalized the same in a more discrete manner. Already some began to seemingly declare some sort of fruitless war on the staff, as if they could procure enough power to earn themselves a better stay at the Academy. Some cried. Some changed very little. Most were quiet, and a few chattered more sanely and intelligently among their new comrades. It was common knowledge, at that point, that strong friendships were going to be a requirement if one wanted to push along safely here.
The girl in the shoulder cape -likely a teleporter given the direct stare given her by the soldier-woman who had entered prior- kept to herself for a good while, eyes trained to her feet and the relative dirtiness of the elevator floor. She had failed to notice the lack in cleanliness. Just another danger sign she could have used to predict the future, she supposed, not that leaving the elevator was an option. Timid as she appeared to be, the girl eventually lifted her gaze to look about the room, eyeing each group and individual as if appreciating their worth. Really, though, she was simply scanning for a good group to weave herself into. If this was anything like a prison, you needed friends.
The girl rose from her seat and followed just behind Shane, believing it to be a good and slightly less awkward chance at introducing herself when someone else did the same before her. She came from behind Shane and jolted her own introduction in just after his, hoping no one would really notice that she was completely separate from Shane.
"And I'm Madeline," she interjected quietly. Her hunched and loose posture nearly forced her to the floor as the elevator suddenly decelerated, and the lights outside began to be discernible from one another, rather than a continuous stream of light. Beyond the glass, a large bulkhead door and platform at its feet grew closer and closer. The tiny figures of two soldiers standing at its sides became visible, as well as the formidable pair of guns mounted on the tunnel's sides. The room locked into one final place, and the doors opened, followed by a brief but deafening buzzer. The way and demand was clear.
Students shuffled about one another back to where they had placed their luggage, and quietly rolled or carried it outside, stopping themselves dozens of feet away from the soldiers standing watch. As the last body stumbled out and into the crowd, the soldiers pressed a few buttons on electronic pads revealed from their armored uniforms, and the elevator doors closed before being sent back the way it came.
From the ceiling, a pair of spinning yellow lights signaled danger as a five foot tall set of bars formed behind the gathering, serving as a makeshift barrier and halting them from stepping backwards; and rightfully so. As the elevator disappeared into the horizon, the whole ground shook violently, and the tunnel beyond began to shift. One by one, the tunnel separated into countless individual tubes, and each descended one after the other atop their own pillars. What was once a transit passage of steel made way for a impossibly vast atrium dominated by hanging skyscrapers and permeating metal pathways. The platform they stood on hung from some unseen building miles above the closest flat surface, which was itself but a small dot in the sky-land they stood within.
The crowd understandably, then, scrambled away from the extreme drop, compacting the students together as the ones at the front refused to walk closer to the soldiers. The yellow lights spun still, and the soldiers maintained their position as the bulkhead doors -seemingly meant to fit stampedes of elephants- twisted open in a circular pattern, making way for a large, multi-floored room.
And upon the rails lining each floor -swinging, sitting, lying, planking, or simply standing- stood countless other students already waiting for the new arrivals. Their faces were a mix of anticipation, fear, disgust, anger, and apathy. The new kids had arrived. The new blood. The scene couldn't have been less prison-like, as if the students with their luggage in tow were being sized up by the veterans, soon to be assimilated or ostracized by the culture that undoubtedly gripped their new home. Students leaning on the rails laughed, pointed, smiled, winked, glared, spat, cursed, hailed, growled, gestured, danced... one in particular mooned the arrivals briefly before high-fiving a friend of his.
The buzzer roared again, and the soldiers gestured for them to enter. Above the bulkhead doors, a large, wide monitor displayed in clear white letters:
