Young Writers Society

Greetings. To all students from the Storybook this was inspired from, welcome to a newly re-shaped, refurbished, and actually planned out version of Pierpoint Academy. To all newcomers, Welcome to Fireteam Eclipse. You don't have to know much about Pierpoint to do well in this Storybook since everything but the concept is different. Now, allow me to explain the world you are about to venture into...

The School

Pierpoint Academy is a military training academy. But it doesn't train ordinary soldiers. It takes the most hardened criminals from all over the state and even a few other parts of the world, and through the encouragement of their violent nature and sometime sadistic tendencies, produces soldiers incapable of mercy, an ingrained instinct to kill, and no regard for any individual's life, including their own. Any weaklings are quickly eliminated by the Academy's training tactics, and sometimes killed by other students. However, it isn't just some wildlands for criminals. Pierpoint academy, along with its kill or be killed nature, comes with a strict set of rules, and the penalty for breaking any of these rules is death.

Rules

1. Unless given permission by a teacher or other faculty member, students are not allowed outside their living hours after 10:00 Extra guards will be on patrol after this time.

2. Killing another student is forbidden and is punishable by death. If your caught.

3. Romantic relationships with fireteam members of your own team or otherwise is merely a complication and will not be allowed. (Which is a rule that is often broken, so no one really takes it seriously.)

and of course

4. If your caught escaping, you die.


Classes

-Required-

Strategy

Armed combat

Hand to Hand combat

Team Exercises
(Occurs once per week.)

Every class except Team Exercises give students the option of taking an Advanced form of the class.

-Electives- (Students are allowed to pick two)

Programming

Hacking

First Aid

Aeronautics and Piloting




They System

Pierpoint academy is a two-year training school for students around collage age (And occasionally younger, around 17 would be the youngest, but those students are usually the exceptional ones and as a result walk around with a target on their backs from day one.) Upon their first year there, new students are broken up into fireteams. eight students to a team. These are the people they will be spending their whole two years with, as well as their first few years in the force. There is only one rule when it comes to your team: It is all that matters. In order to pass through the academy, your whole team must preform well. Anything you do will reflect on your team. If you live, its for your squad, and if you die it is so the fireteam can go on living. That is the number one rule of Pierpoint Academy. The individual is nothing.




So whats the point?
You eight main characters make up the members of Fireteam Eclipse, and for whatever reason, your common goal is to overthrow the government. The army is their center of their control. Its the only thing keeping most of the people in line. Therefore your best hope of even coming close to your goal is to become a part of the military. An indispensable part of it. But the first step is passing through the academy.

Rules of the SB

1. Please refrain from strong language. I will let you know if you go too far.

2. Romance is allowed, but nothing graphic please.

3. Try to post at least once a week. If you can't for whatever reason, let us know beforehand.

4. No killing other characters without permission from the creator.

5. Discuss any ideas you have in the DT. (Use spoilers.)

6. Keep the amount to younger students to one or two and try not to make any character too strong.

Character Page

Evangeline Lakewood
It had been two hours since I had seen sunlight. The bag the prison guards had pulled over my head blocked out all of it. I kept my head down, focusing my consciousness on the world outside the bag. The bus was traveling up. I could feel the tilt in my seat as if jolted down the road. My ears popped slightly. I drew my focus to the inside of the bus. Faintly, I could hear the rustling of a shifting body, almost as delicate as the movement of an injured bird. I tipped my head towards the sound. Slightly, but a little too suddenly. The shifting stopped. I took a deep breath. The inside of the bag smelled like ashes. The two guards flanking me sat so close, I could feel the body heat radiating from their skin. The bus stopped moving, and squeaked to a stop. My guards each grabbed one of my arm and hauled me out of my seat. The cuffs around my wrists chafed against skin that I knew must have already been rubbed red. Behind me, whoever else was in the bus with me rose as well. We trooped to the front of the bus. I counted the groups of footsteps I heard. More than four. My bussmate must have some sort of guard as well. A big one, by the sound of it. Figures. It would've been stupid to let people like us roam free before they had a proper place to keep us contained again. The doors of the bus opened with such a sharp hiss it almost made me wince. My escort marched me down the steps. More footsteps as my company made their way down to join us. The bag was ripped off my head. A cold breeze buffeted my face, sweeping a few of the longer strands of my hair into my eyes. I moved my hands slightly upwards and my guards snapped them back down again. I rolled my eyes. "Oh relax, would you? Don't you think you roughed me up enough getting me out here?" My guards said nothing. I turned my attention to my surroundings. To my right was the source of the other footsteps. A redheaded girl who looked to be my age stood a few yards away. Like me, she was accompanied by two prison guards. As if she had felt my eyes on her, the girl looked over at me. Her face was level. Unreadable. Even with that stone glare of hers, she wasn't too bad looking. But there are only two guards. The thought got me looking away from the pirsoner and to the escort behind her. I defintely heard more footsteps than just them. Where are the others?

"You should count yourself lucky, traitor." An older sounding voice sneered. Male, and rough from whatever the owner of the voice had been smoking before. I turned my head to my left. The man who had spoke was tall, thin and had streaks of hard gray in his hair. He was standing at the shoulder of his charge, a tall boy who was obviously bigger, stronger, and younger than him. The other one stood a little ways off, watching. The prisoner kept silent, staring straight ahead. Only a slight flash in his eye displayed how much he must want to snap this guy's neck. The guard prowled closer. "If you weren't so well bred, I'd have shot you myself by now!" I scoffed a little, and smirked up at my escort. They looked back down at me warily.
"You guys up for a bet?" I jerked my head at the scene. "My money's on the Asian kid."
My Guards glanced briefly And began leading me away from the other two prisoners.
"Really? No takers?" I shrugged. "Whatever. I would've won anyway."

Riley Kincaid

THUD A jolt shook me violently from drug-induced sleep as the decidedly uncomfortable bus hit a pothole. Opening my eyes and looking around, or trying to, I became more aware of my surroundings, most notably the scratchy black bag that was held firmly over my face. Jerking up, my wrists met painful resistance with too-tight handcuffs biting into the skin. Rough hands grabbed me from seemingly all sides and forced me back down into my seat.

"Sit still, worm."

The voice was muffled through the bag, but I recognized it vaguely and finally my memory returned to me. Oh fu-

THUD

The bus shuddered over a speed bump before coming to an abrupt halt, nearly throwing me from the cheap, slippery plastic seat. All was quiet for a moment, save for another voice from in front of me muttering something through an open window. I inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air, tainted though it was by the foul-smelling sack over my head. The bus started again, slowly, and was accompanied by a screeching sound reminiscent of a gate opening. Still no one spoke, but for a split second I could hear the slightest of sounds. The rustling of clothing, forced breathing that was ever so quiet. I'm not the only person with a sack on my head... The moment I had that realization I froze, as others would no doubt be listening just as intently as I. The already nigh-imperceptible sounds ceased just as mine did, and my thoughts were confirmed. A deep breathing sound was greeted only by silence, until the bus finally rolled to a stop, the braked groaning in protest.

The same rough hands as before appeared once again, one at each arm as I was lifted nearly off the ground. Big guard. My fleeting thought of escape was dashed and I deemed that an opportune moment would come..... later.

The doors opened with a great squeaking and footsteps could be heard as my fellow prisoners and I were escorted from the vehicle. The slightest hesitance was met with a rough shove, almost throwing me, blind, down the few steps onto the pavement. I could hear a number of guards and their charges being led away, until they stopped suddenly and quite close by. There was a breeze filtering through the sack now, and the sound of whipping canvas alerted me to my "friends" having their bags removed. A voice soon followed as the clacking of handcuffs came to my hears.

"Oh relax, would you? Don't you think you roughed me up enough getting me out here?"

A girl's voice, late teens, early twenties by the sound... Somehow the voice was familiar, but unfortunately I didn't get to ponder long before my own guard spurred me along, away from the sound of the voice. Another voice, though receding with distance seemed to be directed at yet another, but silent, captive. "You should could yourself lucky, traitor." The voice was in stark contrast to the voice previously heard; harsh, grating and- The girl's voice was ever so distant at this point, and I couldn't make out her words, no doubt in response to the owner of the rougher voice.

Another shove sent me from the breezy outdoors into a frigid, metallic room, and the hood was finally pulled form my head just as a slam and subsequent Click made it clear I was locked in. Turning around slowly, I was greeted by a massive wall of wool and silk. Looking up, and up..... and up, my eyes met with a mountain of a man who I deduced was probably not my friend. My suspicions were confirmed when the man raised his hands and send me sprawling to the floor, landing on my back and having the air forced out of my lungs. Groaning, I rolled over and slowly sat up. The man looked down and pulled his dark sunglasses off before a voice slightly deeper than a rumbling volcano seeped from his lips.

"Riley Kincaid. You have been selected to attend Pierpoint Academy. This selection is not optional. You cannot escape, and any attempts to do so will result in your immediate execution. It will not be painless." With these words, a jumpsuit was produced from the massive man's massive coat, which was tossed carelessly in my direction. A small key followed, clinking on the cold metal floor. "Get changed. You will wait in this room for twenty minutes while your forms are processed. When the red light turns on, you will place your hands against the wall farthest from the floor and not resist the guards. Am I perfectly clear?"

Following a single instant of having to process everything I had been told, I mustered what little energy I had and offered a wide smile to the man. "Crystal." The mountain grunted and threw back an icy glare before the door opened and slammed behind him, deafening me as the noise echoed in the small metal room. Sighing and leaning back, I look up at the cold blue light hanging from the ceiling.

"What fresh hell is this?"

Aria

The scratchy black sack they had placed over my head seemed a little cliche. Necessary, but cliche. Nevertheless, I was grateful when they yanked it up over my head and I could inhale a breath of fresh air. Well, it was stale from the smell of plastic and bus exhaust, but better than nothing.

I felt someone's eyes on me and looked up to find a blonde girl staring at me. Fixing her with my typical blank stare, I looked away from her. If she wanted to waste her time trying to figure me out instead of our surroundings, that was her choice. I peered out the bus windows to see buildings shaped similarly to a prison. They were gray and industrial, surrounded by barbed wire fences and several check in gates. They separated us and I was led into into an empty room after being told that I was at Pierpoint academy and if I tried to run they'd kill me slowly and painfully.

I dropped the stupid jumpsuit to my feet and kicked it off, left in my underwear and a tight spaghetti strap tank top. I slid on the sweatpants they had provided for us along with the black t shirt. I opted to keep my boots on instead of the shabby well-used sneakers.

I folded up my jumpsuit and the red lights came on, so I put my hands on the cool, cinderblock wall with my feet shoulder-width apart. A buzzer sounded and I heard heavy footfalls behind me.

"Aria Callahan, my name is Seargant Jennings and I am going to search you. If you offer any resistance your punishment will be fatal. Please hold still." he briskly patted me from my ankles up, feeling around my general pelvis area and up my sides before feeling from shoulder to wrist.

"Thank you," he said, "Come with me." He led me into another brightly lit room, but this one had a desk in it. They used ink to take my fingerprints and pricked my finger, putting a splotch of blood on paper. They then asked me to confirm my name and date of birth, and then another buzzer sounded and I was led down a long hallway and into a room with 4 bunk beds, and 3 other girls.

The bunk beds were metal with thin-looking mattresses. They were made military style, with the sheets and covers tucked in. It looked like they had taken some of our personal belongings from our homes because I saw a familiar looking duffel bag on a shelf next to a top bunk. A man in the familiar military uniform walked in.

"Riley Kincaid, Evangeline Lakewood, Amélie Riqueti, and Aria Callahan," he called our names one by one and in turn our heads raised at our names. He looked at us like he wanted us to say something. "Yes sir," He prompted, and we all grumbled the words.

"Whenever I address you, you will respond by saying yes sir, loudly and clearly," he emphasized.

"Yes sir." We said. This guy meant business.

"Welcome to Pierpoint Academy, a military initiative developed by the United States government designed to train young criminals into soldiers," he informed us, "You will each be a part of what's called a Fireteam. Your fireteam is your life. You will depend on them for safety and companionship. There are 8 people to a fireteam, 4 girls and 4 boys. To betray your fireteam is to betray your country and yourself."

I looked around the room, there was a girl with short blonde hair, a girl with half her head shaved, and a slimmer girl with brown hair. Criminals? I thought to myself. These girls didn't even look like they could hurt a fly, much less be criminals. Well, except the chick with the shaved head, I hastily added. Throughout all of this my face remained stone cold. Keep your center, Aria.

"For those of you who had a semi-stable home," he scoffed, "You may find some of your personal belongings underneath or next to a bunk. We urge you to look through those personal belongings and determine any other basic needs you might need while staying at Pierpoint before we distribute your schedules. Any questions?" I had a million questions, and I'm pretty sure the other girls did too, but we kept them to ourselves.

"Good." with that, he exited the room.

Amélie Riqueti

Frigid water seeping through the claustrophobic sack over my head woke me in a panic as I struggled to breath. Another splash of the freezing liquid tore away the last remnants of sleep before the bag was finally torn off. I fell to the ground, taking deep, ragged breaths before looking up and struggling to take in my surroundings. The light was blindingly bright in contrast to the blackness of unconsciousness, but before long I could see I was in a cramped, metal room with no furniture and no company save for the large man who was still holding the empty bucket.

"Wh-" I cleared my throat in surprise. I sounded like an old man, my mouth feeling like sandpaper. "Where am I?" I tried again.

The man stared in silence for a moment before a deep rumbling emanated from deep in his chest. It took me several seconds to realize that he as laughing.

"You're in hell, kid. Welcome to Pierpoint." With these words, he throws a small towel and a pair a sweatpants in my direction. A black shirt follows close behind. "Get dried off and changed. When the red light comes on, put your hands against the wall and cooperate with the guards. Any attempts to escape will be met with fatal force." Suddenly I felt woozy, and lowered my head, closing my eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass. Definitely drugged. By the time I look up, the man is gone and the thick metal door has closed with terrible firmness. I climb back to my feet and dry off with the towel, rough fabric grating on my skin and pulling at my hair. The sweatpants and shirt are less unpleasant, but have the faintest smell of chlorine about them.

An eternity seems to pass before I finally crack my neck and bang on the door, the sound nearly deafening me. "If you're gonna kill me I'd like it to happen sometime today please!"

Nothing. Only my own voice digging deep back into my skull. With my eardrums ringing, the light finally flickers to life, bathing the room in a red glow. "Finally." I turn and take my time getting to the far wall before spreading my arms and legs against the wall. The door opens with a BANG, and rough hands come from behind, pushing me against the cold metal with force. I respond in kind with a swift kick, and smile when I am rewarded with a whooshing of air and the connection of my heel with soft tissue. Ouch. Unfortunately, my gratification is short lived when a baton connects solidly with the back of my head. The world goes black and blue, and stars swim in my vision; I don't even feel the thud when I hit the ground.

A quiet, cold voice comes down directly beside my ear as my hands are cuffed behind my back painfully. "Ms. Riqueti. I would very much appreciate your cooperation from this point forwards. I would rather not cause permanent brain damage, but I feel it is my responsibility to tell you that I am not above it."

Under normal circumstances, I would have responded, but for the pain that is now registering on the back of my head. I am made aware of a thick liquid running down the shaved side of my head, and red drops fall in contrast to the clinical metal floor.

There is a short few bursts of air as the voice's owner laughs silently. "I'm glad that we understand each other."

The guards then pat me down in silence hauling my body up from the ground and ushering me into an equally bland hallway, then into an identical metal room, this one with a desk and a bored looking woman with terrible bags under her eyes, who takes my fingerprints and swabs the blood from my head before slapping a stinging bandage over the wound. They ask me questions that I answer on autopilot, struggling even to keep my eyes open for the dull ache pulsing through my head. Finally, through more, longer, colder hallways, I and led into a room with bunk beds and.... people that didn't look as much like the Men in Black.

A man came into the room shortly thereafter and looked over the lot of us, 4 girls in total, all with ranging levels of emotion on our faces.

"Riley Kincaid, Evangeline Lakewood, Amélie Riqueti, and Aria Callahan," he called the names out with pointed looks to each of us. He narrowed his eyes and let out a "Yes, sir." expectantly, before we all less enthusiastically repeated the words.

"Whenever I address you, you will respond by saying yes sir, loudly and clearly."

"Yes, sir." We all repeated. I tilted my head to the side, earning a look from the man as he continued.

"Welcome to Pierpoint Academy, a military initiative developed my the United States government designed to transform young criminals into soldiers. You will each be a part of what's called a Fireteam. You will depend on them for safety and companionship. There are 8 people to a fireteam, 4 girls and 4 boys. Some of you have families. You will forget them. The fireteam is your family now. To betray your fireteam is to betray your country and yourself."

He paused and allowed his words to sink in. We all took the opportunity to size each other up. One of the girls returned my gaze with an unsettling smile, which I responded with my best impression of Jack from "The Shining." The girl who the man had identified as Riley pursed her lips in thought before winking and turning away again as the man continued.

"For those of you that had a semi-stable home, you may find some of your personal belongings underneath or next to your bunk. We urge you..." I blocked out the rest of his droning speech out, knowing full well I wouldn't have such goodie-bags under the Christmas-bunk. Finally the man left us to ourselves, closing and locking the door with a loud CLUNK. We looked warily around at each other, not knowing exactly what to do until I broke the silence with a loud sigh before falling onto the uncomfortable cot and folding my hands behind my head.

"Anyone have any cigarettes? All this crap really has me stressed."

Fowler

The cold bus sways to a stop. I remain on my metal bench until the men on either side of me grab my biceps and pull me to my feet. I don't resist. I plan on allowing my surroundings to take me where they will until I pinpoint what I want. And when that happens, there'll be no stopping me.

I'm apathetic as I trust my feet to land on the stairs below me. I feel firm pavement under the worn soles of my boots and the hood is yanked from my head. Flicking my eyes around, I inhale. The thin air has the crisp smell of winter on it. I ponder on how high up we are as another prisoner speaks with her guards. I tune them out. The dense fog prevents me from seeing more than fifty feet in any direction. The guards lead me and a diverse-looking group of people around my age single-fine through a set of thick double doors. There are two guards per prisoner. We look like a strange parade.

The female prisoners get directed down the left hallway; the boys shuffle to the right, the chains on our ankles dragging on the ground. My guards and I stop in front of a plain, gray door. They unlock my chains, shove me inside with an armful of clothes, and deliver their speech. I only half-listen as my eyes flit about the cell-like room. They leave so I can change, slamming the bolt home with a click. I slip on the black sweats that bunch at the ankles. I tuck my knife deeper into my left shoe, check to make sure my smokes are still in my right, and pull the pant legs overtop of the black boots. Straightening, I change into the plain, black T-shirt I received and pull on the gray hoodie. I leave it unzipped and sit against the wall opposite the door. My mind is racing; I feel anxious all of the sudden. I'd have to find someone with a lighter sooner rather than later.

A red bulb in a wire cage above the door turns on and illuminates the ground in front of me. I have no clue what it means. I don't recall hearing the guards explain its purpose, but then again, I didn't hear much of what they said. The door opens, letting inside chaos that takes the form of my guards. They see me on the ground and all at once there's yelling, guns out, safeties off, looking down the barrel. I'm on my feet in a flash. Their hands are all over me. I'm pulled around, face shoved into the concrete wall. They yell at me what I did wrong. I'm thankful that my position against the wall shields my smirk. It's such a small offense; sitting and facing the door instead of standing and facing the wall. Their overreaction is amusing. It makes me wonder just what kind of place Pierpoint is.

I'm not cuffed as they lead me to a slightly more homey office. The guards are joined by a tired-looking woman in her late forties. All of us are silent. They take my fingerprints and my blood. Then the woman speaks, skimming a file folder.

"Marcus Fowler, age 18. You've been living on your own for...just about four years now. Is that correct?" She looks up over the top of the folder—my folder, I'm presuming. I nod once. She continues. "Born in Colorado on the third of May...mother died shortly afterwards due to a complication in the pregnancy...and you were orphaned at age nine when your father committed suicide. Is that correct?"

"You tell me," I say as I try to keep my thoughts off my face. This woman has just given me more information about my past than I've been able to find myself for upwards of three years. I'm nothing short of astonished. She grimaces but moves on.

"You have been jumping between illegal employers for four years, focusing on sniping, and you are currently wanted by federal law enforcement for...seven accounts of murder? Is that correct?" Her eyebrows had been slowly raising as she read my file, but they jumped up underneath her dirty blonde bangs when she read off my numbers.

"Technically eight, but who's counting," I murmur distractedly. I'm preoccupied with my own thoughts. I'm still two steps behind her in this conversation, still dwelling on how casually she filled in the holes in my memory. I have a thousand thoughts running through my head. How much more is in that folder? I make a mental note to think about stealing it at some point.

The woman nods at the guards, apparently having no more interest in me. They spin me around gruffly and pull me out of the room, but when we pass my previous place of residence, we don't stop. They lead me to the end of the hall. I hear footsteps behind ours. When I get into the room, the guards follow me in, but let go of my arms. I'm left to stand at the foot of one of four cots. Two of them are already claimed by a dark-haired guy and another man, who has a strange little smile on his face. Another person is pushed through the doorway behind me. He stands in front of the last bed. A guard walks in, but he's different than the others. I can tell in his gait that he's higher ranking. He proceeds to give us a rehearsed speech about rules, Fireteams, and personal items. I make an effort to pay more attention this time. I was correct when I assumed I wouldn't have any personal items under my cot. The guards leave, and it's just the four of us left there, standing immobile in front of our cots like little windup toys who haven't been wound up yet.

I turn around and sit on my cot. I really have to find a lighter.

Crow Izha
They gave us the rest of the day to get our bearings. I took a walk. The courtyard was already crowded with people and next to no one even noticed me. The ones who did only glanced at the bandages on my arm. I could see their thoughts reflected in their eyes. Surprise occasionally, but mostly curiosity. Wondering what I was hiding. I silently wished them luck in guessing.
I kept wandering, eyes roving the courtyard. It was surrounded by high walls and tall watchtowers. I could almost see the people in them behind the tainted windows, watching. No getting over the wall, then. My focus turned to the other building itself. It wasn't that different from any other school on the inside. Just a network of hallways with doors lining each wall. The only thing out of the ordinary about it was the cameras. They were tiny-- most other people would pass by them without even noticing they were there--and they were everywhere. Any time a student moved, they'd see it.
A bell rang, signaling for the older students to get to class. A uniformed teacher stood at the front of the pack of freshman with a megaphone in one hand and a clipboard in the other. I instinctively migrated to the back.
"Alright, first years. You're in gym three! This way." The teacher strode off, not bothering to check if we were following. The pack of freshman surged forward. I hung back, watching the faces of the people who passed. Every face different except for one thing: The look in their eye. Every person who passed had a sort of fire in them, a gleam of some sort of sick desire. Maybe that's why I noticed the other three stragglers. Two, a small blonde girl and a larger boy with colorful tattoos arching up his arm, were walking together, talking in some sort of foreign language that sounded vaguely like Arabic. If anything, they just looked bored. The other one was alone, strolling along with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes darted from side to side almost accusingly, and glinted with pure malice. They passed without so much as a glance at me and I followed them, careful to stay detached from the pack. The teacher lead us down the hall and around a few bends to a different, more open segment of the building. I counted no more than seven cameras mounted on the ceiling.
"What are you looking at?" A female voice spoke suddenly in my ear. I slowly turned my head in the direction of the voice. Standing beside me was a slender girl only slightly shorter than I was. Like the three I saw outside, she was missing that disturbing glint. She looked at me frankly, easily, as if this meeting had been planned from the beginning.
"They're watching us." I pointed to a few of the cameras on the roof. "Look."
She looked at the locations I had pointed out. Her eyes narrowed for a second as she looked for them. When she saw them, she only nodded slightly to herself and sauntered off the join the rest of the group.
The teacher opened a door and we all filed in. The room was large, with a royal blue mat lying in the center. From where I was standing in the back, I could see dark shadows where they had tried to clean blood out of it and not quite succeeded.
A tall, dignified looking man joined the teacher on the mat. His hair was gray all the way through and the hard lines on his face, as well as the dark circles under his eyes spoke of stressful days and long, sleepless nights. But he stood at the front of the room strong, tall, and infallible.
"Students!" His voice carried to the back without him having to use the teacher's megaphone. the room immediately fell silent. "I'll make this introduction short. It's useless to give you my name, you will all call me sir and nothing else." He stared around the room at us before continuing. "I am the headmaster here. I own this school, which means I own you." A few discontented murmurs broke out from the crowd. The two Arabic speakers where exchanging whispers with each other, heads together.
"Quiet." The teacher ordered.

"What makes you think we'll lie down and take that crap?" Someone in the audience called out, earning a few shouts of agreement. It was a small, mousy girl standing in the back near me. "Since when did we become your tool kit, man?"

More voices in the audience chimed in, not all of them in agreement this time.
"Everyone shut up, now!" The teacher roared into the megaphone. The volume only gre louder.

"Climb down from your pedestal and make us!" It was one of the Arabs from ouside. The blonde one. The headmaster coolly unclipped the pistol from its holster. I took a few steps closer to the door, watching his hand. At the edge of my focus, I saw the blonde Arab staring at him too, reaching into her jacket. The headmaster pointed his gun at the roof and fired three times. The sound of gunshot cut through the riot and dissolved it into silence again. He slowly lowered it until it was level with the mousy girl's head. "Come up here." The girl shrugged and swept toward the mat, standing as tall as she could, holding her head imperiously high. She never took her eyes off the headmaster.
The crowd shifted apart, watching her progress toward the mat. She stood in front of the headmaster and they stared at each other for ten agonizing seconds. The crowd began whispering again. The headmaster drew his other hand back suddenly and smacked the girl hard enough to send her tumbling to the floor. The blonde Arabic speaker seemed to tense. She slowly started to reach deeper into her jacket, but her partner laid a hand on her arm, subtly shaking his head. The girl on the mat stood up.
"What's your name?" The headmaster's voice was quiet as he said it, but the room was so silent it still echoed through the room. The girl was still staring defiantly.
"Your worst ruddy nightmare." She smirked back up at him. Clichéd, but effective. The headmaster's face hardened slightly. His posture grew more rigid.
"Fine then, Nightmare. You've just volunteered yourself to help me teach one very important lesson."
At a signal from the headmaster, the teacher marched briskly forward and kneed her in the stomach. Nightmare crumpled to her knees, coughing. The teacher forced her hands behind her back and when she tried to force her way back up he hit her again and pushed her back down. The tattooed Arab had now grabbed both of his blonde friend's arms and was pulling he back to her place beside him. "You wanna get you head blown off?" I heard him mutter. To my surprise, he spoke with a British accent. The headmaster pulled the trigger. The bang seemed to resonate through the room longer than the last three. A few people in the front flinched back, but most didn't move. They watched as Nightmare's body fell sideways onto the mat. Staining mat with splashes of fresh crimson.
I felt the muscles in my own body seize up and I looked away. stared down at my arm. Through the bandages to the markings that lay under it. My own pounding heart seemed to be the only real noise. I shut my eyes and listened to it, forcing myself take slow, deep breaths. The headmaster began to speak again.
"This brings us to our next order of business."
I opened my eyes, but kept my focus on the crowd. The blonde Arab was staring straight ahead. I couldn't see her face from where I was standing, but she obviously didn't at all like what just happened. She stood straight. Her shoulders were squared aggressively and her hands twitched like they wanted to pull whatever weapon she had in her jacket out. The other Arab still had his hand on her arms, but he was holding them even tighter now, and whispering something fiercely in Arabic.
"I'll suppose that I'm correct in assuming you've all figured out we won't take any of your crap here. All rules will be followed exactly, or you will pay with your life."
He stares around the room as if daring someone to challenge him again. The red spot in front of Nightmare's corpse was still growing steadily larger. No one said anything. The headmaster nodded slightly. "Rule number one. All students will be in their quarters by 2200 hours. Anyone out after that time, unless given special permission from a staff member, will be shot on sight."
Another pause.
"Rule two. The murder of classmates is forbidden. If you're caught there will be no further investigation, no trial, and no mercy."

"Wonder how that rule came into play." Scoffed a tall girl with a shaved head too quietly for anyone but the back row where she was standing to hear.

"Rule three. You are not allowed any romantic connections to classmates. If you wanted those liberties, you should have chosen to lead a more normal life."
It may be my imagination, but his gaze wavered slightly on the Arabs as he said that.
"And the fourth and final rule. Don't try to escape. Not if you wish to survive. No one has succeeded since the founding of this school. Now." He finished scanning the room and took a clipboard from the teacher. "On to more pressing matters. You have all heard of Fireteams already. You have the general idea of their importance. I will assign them now."
A whisper passed through the crowd.
"Team Aurora. Headed by Sargent Mason Hyde." The crowd went silent again. "Myers. Hayes. Hayes. Hewitt. Feuer." The five filed onto the mat, led by a tall boy with brown hair cropped close to his head. Following them were three other girls. One that vaguely in complexion and size resembled a brick wall, a slight black haired girl with the face and beady eyes of a rat, and another that looked disturbingly like Nightmare. Her eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but the corpse on the floor.
The headmaster read off titles and listed names while the rest of us stood silently listening.

Cyclone

Gemini

Delta

And..."Team Eclipse. Headed by lieutenant Cain Nacaruto." The headmaster looked down at his clipboard. "Callahan." A tall redheaded girl began to move from the second to last row followed by "Dewford." A huge stocky blonde with what looked like a collar around his neck "Fowler" the malicious looking boy I'd seen coming into the gym and “Hawthorne" The tattooed Arab. The headmaster paused, staring down at his clipboard as if he suddenly wanted to burn it. By the time he spoke again, the four he had called had all taken their place on the mat. "Izha." He growled quietly. A shock ran down my spine at the sound of my last name. And it seemed like the same sensation went through the blonde Arab. The aggressive set of her shoulders sharpened again and she stared around at what remained of the audience, searching for a face. My face. I slowly began moving forward. I felt the blonde Arab's eyes burn into me, but I kept my focus ahead on the mat. On the headmaster. On Nightmare's still body still lying on the floor like someone's forgotten toy. I took my place at the end of the line. Next to the other Arab. He smirked at me. I ignored him. The headmaster kept reading. "Kincaid" A passive looking brunette girl strolled onto the mat and stood next to me, posture slouched and relaxed and possibly even a little bored. "Lakewood." The blonde Arab started off immediately, as if she'd been waiting for this the whole orientation. Her eyes were fixed on me the entire time, but when she passed the headmaster, she turned her head away and offered him a small, sarcastic salute and smirk. The headmaster glared, but this time his pistol stayed in his holster. She kept her eyes forward as she took her place at the end of the line, scanning the crowd with a look that held a certain amount of self-righteous boredom. "Requeti" was last. It turned out she was the girl with the shaved head who'd been standing in the back row with me. We stood and watched in silence at the rest of the teams were called. "Now that you all know who your teammates are, I suggest you get to know them. First thing tomorrow you all will be tested."
Another chorus of mutinous muttering broke out, but was promptly silenced by a sharp "This test will be" from the headmaster. When the students had quieted down he returned to his normal level of speaking. "an evaluation on your skills at this point. Both individually and as a team. I suggest you do well, as your score will determine the ranking your team starts at this year. You will report to your lodgings now. Your leaders will be waiting to introduce themselves to you.
The headmaster gave us all one more cold glare before barking "Dismissed"

Oliver Petralia
The Late Bus


The bus hummed softly through the night. Past cacti, past slowly dissipating streetlamps. Above it the stars glimmered. It was probably the most Oliver had ever seen in his life. He sat on the late bus. They couldn't pass him through security fast enough to make the first bus, so Olly had had to wait for the late bus. Around him sat three burly men, all dressed in officer uniforms. Massive combat boots, bullet proof vests, holsters on their belts. Olly had remained confused as to why they would go to such measures to monitor him. He sat in worn khakis, a dark green sweater, and a white t-shirt. On his head sat a gray beanie, covering most of his dyed blue hair. Only a streak of blue protruded from the front, falling close to the rim of his rounded glasses. They'd searched him and found nothing, they'd even put him through an x-ray. Olly took his gaze off the starry night and looked around at his guards. Despite it being late, his guards still seemed fully alert. Olly wondered how long they'd worked for the government for. If they'd served. Maybe he'd ask them, it was too quiet anyway.

"Hey."

Silence. Olly figured they'd all been instructed not to converse with the prisoner. He considered his options. He could relent, yet he'd rather talk. They'd sat in silence for three hours now, and Olly had too many questions to keep to himself. He could probably get the guards to talk to him, given enough time, or he could converse with himself. Something he'd found himself doing more and more over the last few days. Over the last week, Olly had found himself isolated, under increasingly more security. He'd behaved and done all they'd asked of him, but inside he'd felt the want for conversation. For human contact. The guards around him might as well have been robots for all the compassion and decency they'd shown. Olly resolved he'd make these guards speak to him. He'd prove to them that they themselves still retained the capacity of being human. He'd start with an ultimatum. That would send anyone into action. Looking around, Olly caught sight of an officer. He recognized that one, he was the officer who'd stood in front of his cell. He was put in a cell in between his sentence and relocation. It was to be monitored at all times by an officer. Alexander Reimkhuler. The man was forty five with a son and daughter. His wife had divorced him when he'd joined the government. She was anti government and anti military. A dangerous set of beliefs in this time. It was only natural she'd asked for a divorce. His son took after Alexander himself. He was the classic military guy at a glance. But his daughter was harder to read. She was the younger of the two, around six or seven. From what Olly had heard, she seemed to be more tolerant, like her mother. Perhaps Mr. Reimkhuler had a soft spot for tender, human people such as his wife. Or maybe he just wanted a woman in his life. Judging from what Olly had seen, he liked to think it wasn't the latter. The man did his job well, but avoided all the testosterone and masculinity that came with asserting dominance over criminals. As Government officers went, Olly liked this man.

"Hey Mr. Reimkhuler?"

The man turned suddenly. He couldn't quite hide his surprise, and so it slowly spread through his cheeks, across his lips, up into his eyes. Olly managed a slight smile and a nod.

"I believe we've met."

Mr. Reimkhuler started to shake his head. Then the bus came to a halt. It seemed they'd arrived. Olly looked back to the officer. His remained the face of surprise.

"Don't worry Alex, we'll probably never see each other again."

Mr. Reimkhuler nodded. Olly spared one last glance before the bus doors opened and he stepped out alone into the dark. Immediately he was grabbed by a pair of guards. He stood at the entrance of the facility. A sprawling complex somewhere between a school and a detention center. Olly gulped. Couldn't they have at least made the architecture fancy? Olly found buildings looked much less menacing if they were artfully constructed. The guards ushered Olly in through the gates. It was a long gated corridor to the main structure. Olly looked up at the sky, a sort of sorrow overcame him. Not utter sadness, rather a bittersweet feeling. Like a farewell to a friend. He realized this was the final goodbye to what he knew. Above the stars winked in and out of sight, their light speckling the ground across the desert. Across the world. As he entered the facility, Olly heard an officer say.

"Welcome to Perpoint kid."


Pierpoint


A red light came on as soon as Oliver entered the room. It flashed silently until the door closed. The room he stood in was small and dark. A small indent in the ceiling gave way to a blocked off section of the room. As Olly stood, an official looking woman stepped up to the glass dividing the room.

"Olivier Lyle Petralia. Convicted of allegedly leaking government secrets to the public. Trained within government military compounds for four years..."

Oliver listened to the woman behind the glass tick off all the highs and lows of his life. Obviously they'd kept a file on him. Yet one thing seemed to slip them every time.

"That's not my name."

The lady paused for a moment, then continued to read.

"Miss that isn't my name. It's Oliver Lauren Petralia. My mothers first name is Lauren."

The lady continued to ignore him, then she gestured with her hand and the door blocking the rest of the way into the facility opened and the guards rushed Olly through the door. On the other side of the door lay a sprawling network of rooms. Well, maybe not rooms. Rows of steel doors lined the complex. The officers pushed him through a particular row near the back of the structure before opening one of the doors ɪ940. As the officer unlocked the door, Olly caught a glance of the officer's number. He would remember that. For some reason he knew he would. People used to say he had a photographic memory, but the truth was, it only worked sometimes. Sometimes he would unwittingly copy memories into his consciousness. The officer pushed him into the room, grumbled something about orientation in an hour, and closed the door. A lock sounded on the other side. Olly turned from the door and looked around the room. It was sparse, but that was to be expected. Just a small cot lining one side of the room and a toilet. Olly lay down on the bed and produced a book from his coat. Apparently none of the officers had decided to check him before they'd put him on the bus. It was a pocket anthology of Sherlock Holmes. He'd been saving it for this moment. He knew he'd have down time such as now, and so he'd taken the book from an officer's desk while he was within government compounds. Now he began to read. After about an hour he heard footsteps. Closing his book, he stowed it under the cot. Hopefully it would still be there when he returned. Soon after he'd stowed the book, the door opened and two officers ushered him out of his room. They exited the building and headed to one of the complexes within the Academy grounds. It turned out to be a gym packed with kids all around his age or older. At the front of the gym stood a man in front of a pedestal. Oliver took a place on the farthest wall and listened to the man at the front. With a voice like a drill instructor, the man introduced himself as the headmaster. Soon after, Olly heard the protests of someone in the crowd. He suspected as much, the headmaster called the girl up to the stage and proceeded to beat the living crap out of her. Olly felt a pit grow in his stomach. This wasn't right. Every moral fiber of his body told him to march up to that pedestal and smack the headmaster in the face. he calmed himself. Now was not the time to let his feelings best him. Besides, if he wanted to make a difference here he would have to wait. If there was one thing he learned from the military schools it was that patience was one of the most important factors of combat.

After the ''lesson'' had been given. The headmaster ended the meeting and dismissed the children to spend the rest of their day to orient themselves. Olly found a bench near the gym to sit and look out at the view. There wasn't much. Only a sprawling desert backdropped by snowy peaks. and roiling clouds trapped behind them. Olly sighed. He felt like the clouds. Trapped and anxious, if only he could be them. If only he could float through the sky, without direction, without thought. What he would give to be anywhere but here. Yet, however much he wished to be elsewhere, he was here. So he would serve his time however he could.

Fowler


We were divided into our teams about two hours ago. It was a dramatic affair to say the least. Some guy stands up there with a megaphone-voice and a clipboard and he thinks he's hot stuff. He even felt the need to show off his alpha dominance by beating a little girl to death. I was bemused to see that this show actually had its desired effect on the kids around me. I could see it in their eyes; the hunger. For what, I couldn't care less. If the headmaster's barbaric tactics fuel their inner fires, then I want nothing to do with them. It's been a long time since rage fueled me and I'm not about to backslide to the days when it did.

If this was a college, I would be standing against the wall of the common room or student lounge. I don't know what they call it here. There are a couple small sofas and chairs strewn about the room. There's a ratty carpet lying off-center on the floor, as if to compensate for the cold concrete covering every surface. Most of the Fireteam is here, in varying degrees of relaxation. Boss Man said that they'd give us the rest of the day for "orientation". I've inferred by now that when they say "orientation", they really just want us to become all buddy-buddy with our teammates, like we're bunking together at summer camp. Not that I'd know what summer camps are like. So far, the only attempts towards communication are shown by two of the girls talking on the other side of the room. But their conversation looks to be on the border of an argument.

I'm leaning against the stone wall, scanning the room and its occupants. My eyes keep drifting to one of the girls. Riqueti is what Boss Man called her. She has a little silver lighter in her hand, and she keeps flicking it open with her thumb, watching the flame for a moment, then snapping it closed. I've been itching for a cigarette since I got here. Flick. Snap. Flick. Sn—

~•~

—ap.

The cuffs cinch tight around my hands moments after the bag is thrown over my head. Shackles for my ankles. Hands holding my arms in vice grips. No one makes a sound. I'm thrashing my shoulders, trying to kick. Once I shake one of my captor's hands away, two more take its place. I'm struggling against a hydra with hands for heads. Then I feel the bottom of the frame of a vehicle slam into my shins and I'm being shoved down into a cold, metal seat in the bus that would drive for hours, days, weeks, I don't know. I'm trying to push my anxiety back down my throat. I can't see, can't smell anything except the musty bag that I realize after a couple hours actually smells like blood. I'm screaming at myself in my head

DON'T HYPERVENTILATE YOU'RE FINE RELAX YOU'RE FINE

but I can't gain control of my actions. This has only happened once before and it didn't end well. My past clouding my eyes, my face, I hyperventilate. The rest of the bus carries on normally as I tear myself apart from the inside. The guard next to me is chewing gum. I can hear it in his mouth. Pop. Snap. Pop. Sn—

~•~

—ap.

My head feels crowded. Remembering the events surrounding the anxiety brings it roaring back up my throat like bile. Clenching my teeth shut, I push off from the wall and walk—it takes every fiber of my remaining sanity not to sprint—over to Riqueti and her lighter. My sudden movement in the relatively still room attracts attention but I don't care. She squints at me, giving me the once-over, up-down as I approach. When I'm about five feet from her, I reach down and pull my pack of smokes out of my boot without breaking stride. I walk a couple feet closer. She's looking at me with a blank expression, eyes flitting down to my hands. I pull a cigarette out for myself and then offer her one as I speak.

"Can I have a light?" I talk in a low deadpan that doesn't betray the anxiety I'm fighting through. She stands motionless with her arms crossed for a moment, then takes a cigarette with her left hand, a scarred hand. She reaches over and lights mine before lighting her own. I take a long drag and instantly feel better. I know that it would've been more efficient to trade her something for the lighter itself, but at first glance, this girl seems pretty attached to the lighter. Plus, I don't have anything that I'm willing to trade yet. So I guess I'll just have to deal with asking for a light every once in a while.

We smoke next to each other, not speaking. I don't feel pressured to say anything to her. She seems like one of those people that is content with silence. I can appreciate that. We're a dying species. I put my pack back in my shoe, slipping it down the side. Her eyes track my movements.

"What else do you got in there?"

I lift my eyes to meet her gaze. Her voice isn't what I expected to come out of her. It's slightly deeper, and has a strange control to it. The voice of someone who knows more than they're letting on.

"Two packs and a knife," I say, reciting the extent of my inventory. A wave of mild surprise washed over her face. There's a beat of silence.

"Why didn't you lie?" She asks me after a moment of quiet thought.

"Maybe I am lying," I say monotonously. This earns only a dismissive roll of the eyes.

She waves her hand to the side a little bit, as if she was swatting a bothersome bug. "You're not, now answer the question." It's my turn to be slightly surprised. I had figured out that she was more than just your average pyro, but this was something new. Lie-detecting, reading people; it was a useful and rare skill to possess. Interesting.

"Why would I lie about that?" I'm prying at her mind, seeing where she takes this. I'm curious to know how she thinks.

"If people know that you have stuff, they might try steal it." She gives the obvious answer. Nothing wrong with starting at the beginning, I guess. I can work with that.

I tilt my head to the side a little bit. "It's hard to steal from a thief."

"Touché. But most people would lie anyway," she replies, arching an eyebrow. Code for 'no more head-games'.

"There's no reason for me to lie about what I have to a group of people that I'm sure could match or raise me." I answer her in a deadpan. Expressionless.

"Well, if that's true, then why haven't you asked me what I have?" I can't tell if she messing with me or not.

"Because unless you have a spare lighter you want to give me, I don't care what you have," I reply stoically, mirroring her raised eyebrow. I had smoked my cigarette down to the filter. I drop it and press the tip into into the ground with the toe of my boot. The cold floor snuffs out the embers immediately. I shake my hair away from my eyes. "Thanks for the light," I say. I turn around and start to walk away, hands in my pockets.