Author's Note: This is my first time writing in a while, so I'm unsure about this work's quality. However, I can confidently say I had fun writing it. Please feel free to leave criticism about the grammar, language used, and formatting of the paragraphs and such. And do not be afraid to be harsh, I cannot grow if I am coddled. With that being said, please enjoy.
Also, yes, this chapter is incredibly short, but don't worry, this isn't going to be a pattern that repeats itself. Future chapters will be MUCH longer.
PROLOGUE
"DREAMS OF CHRONIC CRUELTY"
Dark, and cold. That was how Miles would describe where he was right now. His head was spinning, and his back was aching. A cold, rubber boot against his spine kept him firmly planted against the floor of the passenger train car. Fluttering his eyes open, he saw his mother and father, their hands behind their head, facing the window of the train car. Behind them stood a soldier in a tan jumpsuit, wielding an SMG of alien construction, training it on his mother and father.
He looked behind the soldier to see the train car's open doors, and on the grassy earth, just outside the train, more soldiers stood, talking among themselves. One in particular stood out. He wore all black, with a radio backpack, and had an orange stripe down the right side of his helmet. His vision began to become blurry, and his consciousness faded momentarily. When he returned to consciousness, he saw his parents being filed out of the train, into the back of a transport truck.
He tried to call out to ask what was going on, but the soldier pressed his rubber boot down hard on his back, forcing the air from him.
"I said stop moving!" the soldier's robotic voice commanded of Miles.
An intense shock came over Miles, as the soldier pressed his stun-baton into the back of Miles' neck. His consciousness was fading again. He saw his mother looking back, calling to him.
"Miles!"
Everything went black, but he kept hearing his name repeated to him.
"Miles!"
Again, it called to him.
"MILES!"
With a jolt, Miles shot up in a cold sweat. Before him was not his mother, but his best friend of some years, Sonic, who had shaken him awake, looking at him with... worry?
"Sonic?"
Around him now was not the cold walls of the passenger train car, but the peeling yellow wallpaper of an old apartment. Beneath him, not a hard metal floor, but a worn mattress, and on his back, not a cold rubber boot, but a warm brown coat. Through the cracks between the boarded windows, flooded in warm, orange sunlight, and then began the morning birdsong.
"What's wrong?" asked Miles.
"You," Sonic replied. "You were shaking pretty bad, and you're crying..." still with his worried expression.
Miles placed his hand on his cheek, and he felt a warm droplet touch his fingertips.
END, PROLOGUE
"DREAMS OF CHRONIC CRUELTY"
NEXT:
I.
"TERMINAL RESTRICTED ZONE"