The Masquerade

The Shipment

God I hated these masks. Everyone says we wear them for intimidation and to "show them who's boss", but I think they just don't want to be identified. We even have nicknames for everyone depending on what their mask looks like. Mine's Swan. My mask is gold with silver engravings and a bunch of white feathers framing the mask. Everyone has been gathered into the high school auditorium because apparently we're receiving a whole new shipment of teens. Our last group was moved to a new town. I was a bit nervous to be honest; I had to address the new group, something I hadn't needed to do before then. I was promoted last month, and now I get access to the weapons and I get to listen to the Masquerade's meetings; how fun does that sound? No one had spoken for a good ten minutes and all I could hear was my heart beating inside my chest. The boys would be coming in any minute now, and as it's expected, they're not usually very happy to see us. None of knew what to expect from these boys, and we were all equipped with whips in case they decided to make things difficult. I think the others here take it a bit too seriously. It's too much of a risk to lose the United Kingdom as an ally, if anything these camps were just meant to protect future generations.
I don't know how long it had been, but it felt like an eternity waiting for the boys. Soon enough though they did manage their way into the auditorium, with the help of the Masquerades shoving them in seats of course. I hadn't realized I was tapping me foot on the wooden panels of the stage - it was a nervous tick I had. The number of boys far outnumbered the Masquerades, but again, we had weapons and an intimidating look; surely none of them would try to attack us. At least I hoped not. "Skull, how many?" I asked once everyone was quiet and seated. "Thirty Brits, fifteen Scotts, and five of them Irish folk." He grunted. The number of Scottish boys outnumbered us already; there were only about ten or twelve Masquerades. "Alright. As you can see we are the leaders here. We have a couple of rules here and breaking them is not tolerated. First off, disobedience or rudeness to a Masquerade," I paused to gesture to myself and the other masked teens on the stage," Is not allowed." I paused again, scanning the dim auditorium. Some of the boys were crying silently, and I felt a pang of guilt and sympathy for them. "Curfew is strictly enforced here." I continued, avoiding the hurt and resentful looks being cast upon the stage. " And always do what one of us says. There is a neighborhood named Cedar Springs just a mile away. That is where you will all be staying. Any form of communication has been cut off. Phones, computers and other devices are only accessible to Masquerades. There will be two of you per house. Since this is one of our bigger loads, some of you may be sharing a house with a Masquerade. That also leads me to this; what is a Masquerade? A Masquerade is one of the teens like myself with one of these masks on. I think that's about it for now, we'll be getting you situated here shortly, you may be staying here for awh-" I was cut off by one of the Brits. "Who says we're gonna follow your bloody rules!?" He was shouted over the eruption of whispering and shuffling in the audience.
I really wish he hadn't spoken up. I had to punish him now. It made me sick to the stomach that the other Masquerades tried to persuade themselves to think that this was right. "It's just setting an example of what not to do, the others will learn from his mistake." One of the masked teens whispered to me. I'm pretty sure his name was Devil, judging by the horns and red paint on his mask, but I just gave a slight nod and hopped off the stage. I wanted to throw up. I could feel every pair of eyes on me. I grabbed the Brit's wrist a bit forcefully, then dragged him down the row and up the stairs to the stage. He did resist a little bit, but eventually gave up. He was scared. They all were. I could see it in their eyes as I passed them. "This is what'll happen if you disobey the rules folks." One of the Masquerades spoke up. His name was King. There was a large golden crown on his mask and silver spikes covering the face. King was also not so ironically the leader of the Masquerades. He lifted his shirt up so that the teens could all get a good look at the whip on his belt before he motioned for me to bring the Brit to center stage. I gave a soft sigh before bringing my leg back and then swinging forward, my foot connecting with the soft fleshy stomach of the Brit. He let out a cry and doubled over onto the floor. Some of the teenagers gasped, but it was nothing compared to the loud crack of the whip. King had struck his whip at the fetal-positioned boy. Even though I was used to the sound of a whip, it still made me cringe when the boy had twisted into a rather uncomfortable position and started to cry.