Over Load

C2; Grub

This is a draft. Please point our any errors.

Pic ^^^^ of who I imagine to be Rebel

Chapter Two
Grub

I pull at the loose khaki wife beater, annoyed with the slightly rough texture of the material used to make the shirt. Most people find cotton-mixtures to be smooth and soft; I'm not most people.

Adding to the irritation that is my uniform, the shirt is slightly too big for me and keeps scratching against my back and chest. It itches.

Sighing in defeat, I throw the rest of my uniform-collection into the metal coffer bellow my bed. It lands in a skew heap. I quickly throw in my suitcase - not bothering to check the contents - and shut the lid of the box.

What the supervisors - whoever they may be - don't see won't get me in trouble.

I hear the approaching group before I see them. Earlier, I'd shut off the harsh light but someone now flicks it on once more. Luckily this time I already have my face smashed into the thin excuse of a pillow so I'm not blinded.

The chatter lowers to whispers when the first year scholars notice me. If I hoped that no one would bother me, luck is no longer in my favour. Not five seconds after the rest of my bunk-mates enter the bunker; someone takes it upon themselves to shake my shoulder.

I roll to the other side of the bed, effectively escaping whoever the hell dared to touch me. Unfortunately, because the bed is tiny, I end up rolling off of the bed and crash on the harsh concrete floor.

A few snickers are heard, mixed with my growl of annoyance.

"Are you okay?" A scrawny boy about twenty years old stands on the other side of my bed, trying to contain his own laughter. I lazily move into a sitting position, pull my legs up and rest my head on my knees.

"You must be the new recruit." The boy tries again. When I don't answer him, he takes the time to walk over to me and starts to poke me.

"Piss off." I grab the finger he was poking me with and twist it. The next moment he joins me on the floor, a gobsmacked look on his face.

"I did not expect that." He admits, extending a hand to me. "My name is Taco."

I eye his hand, stand up and straighten my shirt. "Cristina."

"Oh." He quickly jumps to his feet. "You don't seem like a military-girl. I spent a year at a military base before I decided to become a private contractor instead. Where do you come from?"

"Juvie."

"Juvie?" his babbling is momentarily paused and he frowns at my answer. "Is that where you got those?" he points to my face and shoulders, which are covered in vicious scars.

"No."

"Whatever caused it must be the reason you decided to come here, huh? You seem like a spirited girl, but not physically very powerful..." His babbling is hurting my ears.

"Is there a reason why you approached me?" I interrupt him briskly.

"Right, yes. I wanted to warn you; Vireo will be here any second. He's our main instructor and he doesn't tolerate tardiness. Also, your bed is quite a mess and he'll call you out on it. Vireo likes to..."

I rapidly place my hands over my ears. "Just stop, Marco."

"It's Taco."

"Whatever, you're giving me a headache." I pass him, ignoring the dissecting looks everyone else is giving me, and pull my bed into its previously prestigious state. "Good enough?"