" ARE YOU BORED YET? " . ― TMR

001,

HES BORED. It shouldn't be his first concern, but sitting in this metal box while the feeling of going up fast but not really flying fades away is doing wonders to his psyche. He's tried to distract himself by looking through the cargo surrounding him, but it's a headache when you try to look at something and then it shines straight into your eyes. Trying to figure out where he's going seemed like a good try for entertainment, but it was quickly shut down when he realized he had literally nothing to go off of.

It feels like an eternity of nothing but flashing lights in between intervals of pure darkness before he spots the red lighting from above. He gets up into a cross-legged position, feeling the box slowly come to a stop. There's a brief pause before he's bathed in green light and the box begins to move again.

It's only for a short moment though, and then it stops again. Something from above opens and he is almost immediately blinded by light. There is a flood of nonsensical chatter that buzzes from beyond the metal box that quickly dies down as figures begin to block the sunlight. He still covers his face with one hand, squinting through the gap between his fingers.

Now with actual light, he is able to look at the cargo surrounding him. There are stacks of cans, barrels, some rope, and tons upon tons of boxes. Looking down, he realizes that the entirety of the floor is covered in wooden boxes.

The top of the metal box is pulled open, and he moves back just as one of the figures from above jumps down. He locks eyes with a boy with short, light brown hair and sharp eyebrows. The boy crouches down and stares at him for a moment before his face breaks out into a grin.

"Well aren't you a looker? Nice to meet ya' Greenie." The boy stands up, offering a hand. "Whaddaya say we get out of this piece of junk?"

He blinks, once, twice, before he accepts the hand. He brushes himself off as the boy in front of him turns around and shouts something up to the other figures.

Now that his eyes have adjusted, he is surprised to see a circle of boys above, all staring down at him and whispering to each other. There's a very faint remark about femininity that has the other boys turn and begin berating someone out of view. He's confused, but looks away when the boy in front turns back to him. His hand is once again extended towards him.

"You need me to hold your hand while we climb out?" The boy jokes, but his face shifts into something resembling surprise when he actually does accept. The boy's hand is rough, with callouses and a deep enough scar near his palm that he can feel even without seeing it.

Perhaps he shouldn't have?

He frowns, just about to pull away when the boy recovers and tugs him to the wall of the box. He begins to climb, hanging by one hand as he waits. Curling his fingers around the metallic bars, he quickly hoists himself up. The boy reaches the top first, pulling him up to dirt and fresh air. He gets up to his feet, looking around at the circle of boys who have grown into a rather large crowd within the span of a few minutes.

Through a gap inbetween the boys, all he is able to make out is acres of grass that seem to stretch for miles, with towering walls of gray surrounding every side. Entryways stood in the middle of each wall, leading off into unknown territory. He weighed the choices of making a run for the nearest one or just stick with the people and see what they do to him.

An arm suddenly swings itself around his shoulder and he flinches, the earlier boy's face appearing beside him.

"Welcome to the Glade, Greenie." He gestures out to the miles of grass, the crowd parting like a sea to give him a clear view. Now, he sees little huts and pens full of animals scattered about, with even more people walking around in the distance.