With a watch on his wrist, no memory of his past, and a puzzle-filled room, Atlas tries desperately to escape the elevators.
Upon waking to darkness, Atlas stumbles into the white room. His desire for answers driving his feet to move. In the firs...
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The repetitive shuffle of feet floods Atlas' ears. It was a rude awakening from his numb and cold thoughts. Upon entering, the troops kept their straight formation and headed to a stern woman brandishing a clipboard. The soldiers turned on their heels, which prompted the resistance members to mimic clumsily. As each group of soldiers stepped forward, they recited the same words--"Commander, Squadron 5 reporting victory. We experienced three losses." The sentence would barely leave their lips before the woman scribbled on her wooden weapon.
The line was increasingly short as the 'new' squadron stepped up to bat. The woman's taut bun pulled the wrinkles free from her dark skin. Her brown eyes bore into Atlas as she moved directly in front of him. Her eyes raked up and down his form. Atlas tensed up from worry and prayed she did not notice the slight flinch. He prayed she could not see his strong-- and distinctly male jaw just under his cumbersome headgear.
"Squadron Leader, what's your status report?" she practically spat the words, mere inches from the man's face. Atlas' breath hitched, and he froze. Icy worry coursed through his veins, and his thoughts prevented any words from escaping his throat.
What makes me the squad leader? This wasn't part of the plan. Hope was supposed to be our voice!
From his peripheral, Atlas noticed the bright red knot displayed confidently on his left bicep. None of his comrades had a bandana to match-- which denoted him as the leader.
Which makes me an idiot.
"Commander! Permission to speak." Hope squeaked out the robust title before recomposing herself. The woman's beady eyes whipped around to the girl angrily. She moved so that she was not spitting at Hope's feet rather than Atlas'.
"What is so important that you have to interrupt line up, soldier?" Commander hissed.
"I am squadron leader 6. In a rush to battle, we mixed up our top units.'' The feeble lie seemed convincing enough. Atlas breathed out a sigh of relief. He would have to thank Hope later for her quick-witted response. A sharp thump pulled his attention sideways. The woman had smack Hope across the face. Even though the headgear, he could see the uncomfortable twist of her neck. Hope sucked in a breath and turned to face the middle-aged woman once more. Atlas watched the fiery redhead's hand contract into a fist. She was pissed.
The commander's low voice rumbled quietly and threateningly as she addressed Hope again. "Don't let it happen again. Status. Now." Venom oozed from the slave driver's words, but Hope persevered and swallowed hard. With the calmest voice Atlas had ever heard, Hope spoke, "Commander, Squadron 11 reporting victory. We experienced one loss."
