Here we go everyone: the semi-promised revised-sort-of version of Military School.
Notes:
1) This isn't really set anywhere, as in a certain country or area. Just picture an abandoned plain.
2) I haven't really taken Snakehead into consideration.
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The bus was filthy: the windows were clouded with dust, the seats were coloured with graffiti, the roof a collage of spit balls. It headed out along a dirt road, its wheels skidding along. The driver chewed on a wad of gum, his passengers not saying a word.
The boys in the bus each had their own stories, secrets really. The only reason to be on this road was to hide your past, forget it, or run from it. It was in this sorry excuse for a vehicle that Alex Rider sat, his bag between his knees.
He was located towards the back of the bus, separated from the rest. His was fully aware that aside from him, the driver and two other young men, everyone was handcuffed. Their hands were chained to the headrest in front of them – sour looks upon their faces. Two of these boys were juvenile delinquents, three without people to care for them and five who needed a good kick in the backside. No one on this bus knew another, hence the lack of communication.
The vehicle was coming to its destination fast – but not fast enough for the passengers bearing the sweltering heat. There was no air-conditioning, just a simple, cheap fan attached to the dashboard. Alex had spent most of the journey watching the slowly spreading patch of sweat on the back of the driver's neck and the other passengers sway with the bus. There was not much to look at outside – just one stretch of dirt after another.
If Alex had been sitting next to a hygienically cleaned window, he might have seen the first big brick building appear on his left. He would have seen the corrugated iron roofs and the locked windows. But, alas, he didn't see these features of his new home until he stepped off the bus.
He and the two other unbound boys got of first, there bags on their backs. Dust was unsettled as their feet met the ground and their eyes squinted in the harsh mid-morning sun. The driver who had been overseeing the extraction shoved them into a rough line.
The handcuffed passengers got off one by one, newly unbound. Alex saw their hard faces and cruel glares. He hoped the isolation of this location would make them all equal.
When the last figure got off the bus, Alex closely inspected him – or, her, as Alex soon realised. She had been sitting behind him, her hands attached to his headrest. Her mid-length brown hair had been hidden in her hood, which was certainly making the heat worse for her. Her jeans were long and baggy, belted low across her hips. Her black hooded jacket hung over her wrists. She was just as unclean as the rest of them, their faces unwashed and their fingernails black with dirt.
The ten of them watched as the driver heaved himself back into his bus, honking his horn as he did a u-turn and drove away, dirt flying up from the tyres. Three men with cowboy hats walked out of the smallest brick building.
"Welcome to hell, gentlemen," said the first, a smirk on his lips.
"I'm Mister Franks, head of this establishment. This is Walter, our security," he said, pointing to the first man, "and this is Councillor Jacobs," he tilted his head towards the third, shorter man. "Head to the cafeteria for introduction!"
The ten assembled teenagers looked at each other, not daring to move.
"Move it!" Walter shouted.
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Author's Note:
Am I going good so far? Tell me if any grammar is wrong or if something doesn't add up.
The next chapters will be considerably longer, as this is just a prologue.
Ta,
Mufasa