The alarm blared, red lights pulsing like heartbeats, the hallways of Cyclonia lighting up.
There was a banging on the door.
All five of the young men stumbled out of bed, sheets tangled around their legs.
"Wha' 'ime i' it?"
"Dunno..."
Yawns echoed against the bare walls.
"WAKE UP! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"
Whoever had been banging left, and the young Talons glanced at each other.
Attack?
What the...?
They dressed quickly, before hunkering into the corridor, trying to look macho. Which is difficult, at two in the morning.
One of them spied an older Talon racing towards the throne room.
"Who is it?" He asked it softly, so that the words evaporated like steam.
"Storm Hawks," the other answered, so casually that it might have been a joke.
"Does this happen a lot?"
"All the time." And he ran down the hallway.
All five of the newbies stared at each other. The same thought flashed across every young, naive, mind.
This was NOT what they signed up for.