It may seem strange, but the first thing that came to my mind as we were ushered into a building in England was that it had air conditioning. And it worked. Sometimes public buildings in America would have the treasured man-made cool air, but most often they didn't. And if they did, most often it wouldn't work. Stepping inside this building was like stepping into another world.

The ceilings were high. They weren't anything like the five-footers we had in our houses, the ones that I had to crouch down under to even hope not to hit my head. No, these ceilings were endless, vanishing up into the sky with stairs running along the walls.

We were directed to a large desk and when I got near I squinted my eyes hard to try and make out the words written above it. We had limited schooling, to say the least.

I didn't like what I could make sense of. It said, "Military". And when I looked at the man there, sitting with his hands folded on the desk in his red uniform, I had a nasty feeling about what that meant.

When he began to talk my fears were affirmed.

"You've been brought here to train as a soldier."

And that was the end of his speech. Done. That's it. But it frightened me enough, oh hell it did. Because I knew what the military was. The same people who had brought me here and burned down my house.

I didn't want to be a Lobster.

From the way Matthew's fingers suddenly dug into my palm, he wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea either. And I couldn't picture him in a battle. Involuntarily, I looked over, just to see the fear in his eyes and the sudden cold sweat on his forehead.

A line was formed without much of a struggle, all of us boys shell-shocked at our newfound predicament. They expected us to fight for them.

We went through the line quickly, as we just had to say our name then file into a room. Somehow Matthew and I had ended up in the back, a terrible place to be because all of a sudden it was just us and the man at the desk.

I held my breath as Matthew somehow managed to stammer out his name. He gave his last as "Williams", for my mother had always said that she liked it better than our family name. I think that it was more like she was afraid of repercussions. My grandfather, my father's father and the one whose name was now our last, had been the leader in the last bout of revolts. He'd escaped from Britain and created a force in order to try and keep our remaining towns safe.

At his memory I stuffed my hands into the pockets of the jacket I wore, a piece of clothing that had belonged to him. It was real leather, a bomber jacket that was warmer and much sturdier than any other thing I had owned. He'd left it to me.

Matthew walked away and my hand felt empty where my brother's warmth had been. I tried not to let my panic show, my horror at being alone with this Lobster. I tried to stay calm as I stepped up and unflinchingly told him who I was.

"Alfred Jones," I said, chin jutting out. I was proud of my grandfather. Fuck the repercussions.

Instead of writing down the name and waving me on, as he had done for every other boy to come up to him, the Lobster's eyes widened. His hand flew out and pressed down on a button. He muttered quietly into a mike, "Sir, sir, he's here."

Wariness leaked into my chest as I started to back away, more frightened of this place then I had been. Was being related to the late Alfred Jones that bad that he would call a higher ranking official on me?

A door flew open a couple flights above me and a small blonde man in the hated red uniform tore his way down the stairs, closely followed by other Lobsters calling out, "Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Kirkland, sir, please stop!"

He was fast and outstripped them easily, dashing down and skidding to a halt right in front of me. His green eyes searched my face and he nodded slowly.

"Alfred," he said softly. "You kept me waiting longer than usual."

I had no idea what he was talking about. But his face stirred some sort of familiarity and emotion in me. First I felt relief, relief that he was here, for no reason. Then slowly a sense of resentment… And then my hand acted of its own will.

I slapped the Brit before me across the face.

O.o.O

Author's Note: Well, I did not expect to be done with this by today. But it's still a short little premise chapter. They'll be longer, later. Just bear with me. Saturday will be it's normal updating day. So… read and review please?