Chapter 2—Begin
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A splash of light and a cold hand on her bare shoulder brought Roslynn from her dreamless sleep in the small room were she had been led and left after the incidents of the night before.
Things were becoming more and more clear, but even that didn't stop the coldness that permeated her skin and being like an unwanted needle.
The orderly left something on the foot of her bunk and then retired from the room, the blinding light going with him, leaving her in the darkness of the small room. She looked around again, as she was barely able to remember what the room looked like.
There was another door to her bathroom; a desk with lamp, pencils and paper, the wheelie chair pushed in; a large book shelf leaden with books; the bunk upon which she now sat and a small night stand that now had a pile of clothes on it.
She rose, the cold attacking the areas of bare skin that remained uncovered by the scant coverings she did have. Hurriedly, she reached for the clothes that had been laid out for her and quickly pulled them on. Although simple they provided more warmth than what she had only been wearing.
She now stood in the dimly lit room, the lights must have been activated while she was dressing, wearing a long pair of black shorts, and a black T-shirt. Remaining on the night stand was a pair of black leather biker gloves and she pulled them on and tightened them down against her hands and fingers.
As she finished pulling on the gloves the door opened again, a painfully bright light outlining a rather large form. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she was able to see the man motion with his hand, a sweeping motion back towards himself. Did he want her to come with him? That was certainly the way it seemed. And in debating to go or not a strange sense of curiosity came over her and despite her misgivings, she consented to being led from her room to wherever this man was to lead her.
He brought her into a long hallway, painted a blindingly pure white, black doors inlaid on one wall, equally distant from another. And as they stood there, the others came out, the ones that had stood beside her, cold from being released from the cloning tubes. They all appeared familiar, and not just because they were dressed the same, but familiar the way one would look upon a brother or sister.
Ahead of them came men dressed in white, as one had for her and then suddenly they were all walking down the hall, past the doors and through a series of turns that she, inadvertently, made a mental note of incase she were to have a need to come back this way in a hurry. She, for some reason, was certain that the others were doing the exact same thing.
Their journey came to a halt in a large metal room, a number of tables and strange machines looming here and about. The orderlies left and they were left to stand there, cold and confused.
"Well this sucks," Dante muttered as they milled about.
"Not much that we can do about that, now is there?" Black asked, sarcastically.
"Stuff it." Dante said back when a bright flash caused him to raise his hands to cover his eyes. "What the hell…?"
Alex stood against the near wall, a sword in hand. The long English broad blade glinting light in Dante's eyes from the florescent lights above. "Wow."
A rush of bare feet slapping on the cold metal ground had the rest of them over at the table, picking up weapons that caught there eyes.
Roslynn hefted a braod sword, the guard a rams' head, the horns rolling back into the hilt and pointed at the pommel. Dante tested a long calvary sword in his hand, the heads of two horses forming the guard. Winter and Vergil swung, experimentally, their curving Chinese swords. Black stared at the Roman long sword he had picked up, a sense of rightness enveloping him. Rose held a hatchet and a long dagger in hand, testing the feel of them in her hand. Hope held a spear, a long black staff with a long point at the top, an axe head with crimson runes along the blade.
Each held his or her weapon as if they had been theirs forever. Things rushed to the front of their minds: techniques, stances, sweeps, movements, all aspects of swordsmanship. How could they know this? They weren't thinking of that, only of how cool that was.
Up in the one way mirrored room over looking the room where the eight knights now stood, was a small group of men and women. "Call the buyers, tell them the genetic programming was a success and that who ever buys them will have the most lethal attack squad in the world.
To all reviewers: thank you for comments and questions. All will be answered... eventually. Keep reading and reviewing.
Thanks -Philly Steak 'n Cheese.