It's the most dreaded, tension-full night of the year.
The Drafting.
Anyone anywhere has found someplace to watch it, whether it be at home in front of the flat-screen TV you managed to get at a suprisingly low price, on your hologram, or on an old and rusting telo in an alley.
Silence fills the air as the monotonous young woman sits at the desk behind your screen. She clears her throat.
"Welcome," Her pitch changing voice rings. A bot, no doubt. It was evident from her highly impossible and attractive features, "The Drafting will begin in a few moments."
A minute passed. Two minutes of a frozen screen, watching the woman stuck in time. Waiting. Dreading.
"The Normals chosen will be displayed on the screen." The tapping of fingers and feet- a sign of impatience or nervousness.
The woman lists the people whom were chosen in your faction.
Your name is called, and a picture of you is shown on the screen.
"Welcome, Special," The woman repeats as she'd done for all of the other people called. All eyes are glued to you. Crying, hysterical, sympathetic. Your friends. . . Your family. . . You'll have to leave them.
You'll be completely alone.
The woman finishes her list.
"You will be picked up on the 28th of December by a hover-bus. Be ready and bring only valuables. Everything else will be provided for you in your new home. If you refuse, there will be consequences. We'll see you then."
Her eyes held a certain promise.
The screen flickered, and turned off.
It was over.
YOU ARE READING
THE SPECIALS
RandomYou are Special. You've been drafted, involuntarily chosen to be experimented and tested on by a lethal group of scientists, the Outcasts. Outcasts were a sketchy group, accused of creating monsters and drugs to physically manipulate the human body...
