The Hallowed

The Selection

Here I am, standing in line with 30 other people, going into a mildew-encrusted building that used to be where I worked. I was a metalworker, pressing sheets of metal into car doors, license plate bases, hulls for ships, anything that required massive-ass metal presses, we made it. I would sweat for hours, though it payed really well. 48 bucks an hour is not a bad job for someone who lives alone. But now, the metal presses I would wish to stop for one damn second aren't functioning. And I'm about to meet my end at the hands of some blue-skinned, red-eyed opressor. Oh, that's right, The Order is a cult comprised of people that are a crazy-ass mutation of humanity that makes their skin blue and eyes red- bulks them up a bit, too. It also gives them super strength, enhanced durability to the point where an assault rifle bullet hurts like a 9mm bullet, and an insatiable thirst for blood. Back to my story, I was about to enter my old boss's office; Perry, that sleaze, I've been there before. Almost got fired a few times too. Where Perry was, an Order member sat in his chair and inspected me, head to toe.

"Designation?" A rattly voice, like a pissed-off skeleton spoke out.

"Vanadium-23" if I didn't reply that, they would shoot me here. I at least want to die in privacy, not looking at a blue version of The Hulk.

"Move onwards to the next room, scum." The bulky, pissed-off skeleton commanded. I had to comply. So I walked. And I walked. Past the defunct conveyor belts, past the bright, lemon-yellow lobby, past the black-carpeted break room-I would gladly lose a leg if it meant I got another slushie from there- and around the corner into the doorway of a new room. I knew that this room was new as it had black paneling with yellow, cybernetic lines all around it, and it made a noise that can only be attributed to computers arguing. I stopped walking. An Order guard saw me stop moving, obviously not allowed here, and started walking over to me, .45 calibur pistol in hand.

"Keep moving, human." Human. This guy, this monster, this pox on the world, walks up to me in full riot gear, points a gun at me, and calls me a "human," as if he earned a right. I swallow my many choice words, look him in the eye, and only say one word.

"No." And with that, I book it. I sprint out of the doorway, into the breakroom, and close the door behind me. The Order may be big and burly, but they're not stupid. They know I'm here. But I hide behind the counter of the snack bar anyway. I hear the door open, and with the noise it made I doubt the door exists anymore, and I hear the thump, thump, thump of police boots making their way toward me. I stay silent. The boots get right to the snack bar and stop. The guard goes around the corner so he can see the inside of the bar, but doesn't see me. I see him, though. And he is a burly one. His hand could crush my head like a packing peanut. He moves past me, and I see my next chance to run. And so I take it. I sprint out of the break room, making sure to put some basic barricades of tables and chairs behind me, and run towards the lobby. I'm almost there, and I see a massive, blue, skin-ish pole head sideways towards my face.