"Get the hell away from it!"
The whistle of the falling sky drowns out my commander's words. Not that I was listening anyway. No, I was too busy staring at the huge pod that had crushed my comrade just two seconds before. It was about 7 feet tall, with jet-black shining plates covering it's surface. The red glare of spilled blood on it doesn't help my already churning stomach.
"W-what is that..?"
"I am assuring you it is nothing; SO GET BACK TO BASE, CADETS! THAT IS AN ORDER!"
I solemnly began to walk away, when a small hatch on the pod opened and a small...crab-thing crawled out. Cadet Jackson turned around and walked toward it.
"What is this thing..? It's kinda cute..."
The crab jumped up and, screeching, attached itself to Jackson's face. "Jackson!" I screamed. "MMAAHH! AHHHAHAAA!" His cries of pain echoed throughout the courtyard and mingled with the screams of a thousand other trainees suffering the same fate. "What the hell..." is all I managed to get out before I was knocked unconscious.
"Welcome...to City 17. It's safer here."
I awake to blue, dirty denim jumpsuits and the inside of an aluminum tram. A black, bearded man stands, swaying slightly with the movement of the tram and holding a brown suitcase. Another man stands in front of me, looking dazed and confused as he adjusts his glasses. "Who..." I quietly ask myself, but he doesn't notice. The black man straightens himself.
"Didn't see you board the tram."
The man in glasses says nothing, and quickly moves over to the man with the stubble sitting on the bench. He clutches his suitcase as the man approaches, as if his life depends on it. The man with the glasses says nothing , but a subtle nod is all the man needs to know it is his turn to talk.
"I'm just trying to keep going."
And with that grim statement, the tram slows to a stop. As the door opens, the black man turns to the glasses man for a final remark. "Well...end of the line." He straightens his jumpsuit's collar and walks off the tram. After a moment of adjustment to the bright lights of the tram station, the glasses man walks out. As he does, I catch a glance of his nametag.
'FREEMAN, G.'
I have a good feeling about this man.