Sign Up | Log In
BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL
C1P4 Explore the brutality of the Academy
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 543 RATING: SERIES: FIREFLY
Table of Contents
Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 1
Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 2
Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 3
Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 4
Quote: New images. Anger- not mine- others. Angry faces stare towards me- though their speech is hidden their anger- body language is not lost on me- they think me unfair perhaps. These angry stairs turn to risen fists, aimed guns, and pointed knives. If I am unlucky enough to have to deal with the later two I lose some money in 'life insurance' that will calm the situation. But the first result I often participate in- I am small- light- young- but quick. The other men seem clumsy- have had too much to drink- and I have my day most times.
Summary: Explore the brutality of the Academy.
The cold floor surprises my feet once again- I still am yet to get used to walking bare though it has been at least a month since I first awoke in the metal box. I am shoved into the capsule- this time not by the evasive man but instead by the odd scientist- of whom I grown to realize receives pleasure from pushing around others. Today however I am not headed for the Headmaster's office- today I am headed for the medical labs where each student will receive a complete medical evaluation- all on an individual basis. I have grown used to the metal walls of the labyrinth- but not the evil that resides within its walls.
The other students continue to laugh at my expense- naming me Porter; as in attendant, and treat me as such. I hate the treatment- though any 'obscene behavior'; as defined by the scientists as cursing - arguing- or violence, is met with punishment- as I have come to find out and therefore I have no way to resist my torment. They exile me from their table by stacking books on my seat or committing other atrocities to my assigned area- and so I often receive punishment for sitting at the incorrect location. I have notified many of the school staff of my abuse- and yet they hardly care- some even partake in my exploitation- making me help them with dish duty or such on the basis that they will support a false claim that I have committed some wrong. I am a lion lost in a city- not belonging here but trapped nonetheless, even Professor Tullius has grown impatient with my lack of knowledge- and most of the other teachers hate me- going out of their way to make me miserable.
The odd scientist appears at the door- as he does every morning. "Good Morning S501, you are the first student to be evaluated today- follow me."
I cannot help but to chuckle as I follow him- he had stopped asking me to follow him after I politely refused one day of last week- of course I was punished for my impunity but it was well worth the frustration I had caused him.
The capsule whizzes around- it is a disorientating ride; perhaps by design, as the capsule seeming darts at top speed towards its target. This ride however is different than during my visit to the Headmaster's office- this time the capsule drops down several levels before beginning is horizontal departure- a new location perhaps?
Finally the door to the capsule opens once again- my feet meet the cold floor but the new and startling environment rather captures my attention- I have been taken directly to a single room by the capsule.
The room was a preliminary lab- having similar equipment to that of a pediatricians office, on the far side of the lab was a large metal door- massive enough to confuse with the opening of a safe. In the center of the room stood the Headmaster with one other scientist, and in the corner to my right sat two guards playing a card game- poker.
One of the guards was staring intently on the pot- it was large for a two man game, perhaps too large for the man to resist.
My eyes intently studied the board- which held a 3 of spades, a 4 of diamonds, a 6 of spades, a king of spades, and the final card was a 3 of clubs.
"Welcome 501." The headmaster said - the scientist no longer by his side- and the door at the back of the room closing shut.
His words come as deaf to me- I hear them but I don't. slight shushes and whispers clamor the back of my mind-
"You're not going to win- your cards aren't good enough"
Surprised I glanced around- looking for the origin of the voice- and discovered it had been my own.
A blinking light crosses my mind- a flash of memories I once knew- cards- I know poker. How odd is it to be able to name a game when you cannot identify yourself? Whispers fill my ears- my eyes drift warily around the room- glancing- analyzing- I search for the whispers.
I glance upon the guards.
The first guard looks towards me. He is a large white male- 6'3 220 perhaps. He has bright red hair- unkept- that is complemented by an overgrown red goatee- overall he appeared to be rather lowly educated based on his appearance- his mouth moves but his voice fades behind the curtain of my mind- I look to the other.
The guard opposite of him was a Black male of large size and carried a more civilized look to him- his hair properly trimmed and face shaved clean. He hardly made an expression- he was a rookie to the game and seemed almost too tight lipped. He gives me a glance- his more out of concern.
I stagger back slightly- whispers turn to images- images turn to memories.
Autumn air dries away sweat located on my brow- I am tired but pleased. Harvested wheat- shaped into bales surround me and within my hand I hold a primitive tool of sorts- a crescent blade connected to a staff. It is harvest season- working season.
My emotions are apparent within this memory- that is odd- most times these sitcoms hold no emotion- they are jokes to me- they hold no sound.
I am tired- long day of work with the ragged tool perhaps. I walk- trudge- to an oddly shaped red building; a barn, dragging a cart with 4 bales of the wheat behind me. I stop short of the barn- tossing the 4 bales of wheat into a shuttle shaped storage unit- a large one- a silo. A man next to the silo observes the bales- and hands me 18 ribbons- signifying my total work from the season so far- it is pay day.
I head into the barn- and wait in a line of equally exhausted men laurelled with ribbons. At the head of the line sits a well dressed man- no sweat- he has with him a container- and exchanges ribbons for coin. Finally my time comes- I toss him the ribbons- he neglects to exchange them. Anger now boils within me. I open my mouth- silence- perhaps I had been shouting- but my sitcoms are silent. The man shakes his head- smiling- pointing to a document. I can read it- "Labor Card Required"- is what it says- I am too young to have a labor card- I have been cheated.
I leave- sorrow and anger consume the memory- but there is evidently nothing to protect me from such an exploit- and so I leave- walking down a street until I arrive at another primitive tool- this one having two wheels and a chain that makes them move when I pedal. In the far distance the sun sets behind tall buildings and bright lights- this is my destination- I head for a city.
The memory shifts forward- skipping frames- now I am near the bright lights- but no sound- no text- no speech is audible. Only one sign catches my eye- black letters beset by a lit yellow background- with a picture of beer located in the center. It is a bar.
I often went to this city- it is the setting for many silent sitcoms- this bar was kind to kin of my age and only worried about cash or labor- one could find good earning; though not honest, work there.
My mind is plagued at a loss for names- the sign to the city- the bar- all unintelligible.
Memories interrupt the sitcom- scenes of cards all silent but vivid. Though names escape me- actions don't. I do more than drink at the bar- I gamble. Cards make sense to me- these scenes highlighted by my eventual sweeping in of coin- the other men giving hard pressed looks towards me as I rob them of their hard earned money so easily. I am no cheat- I know this game- it speaks to me- and I listen to it. My decisions are perfect- and so is my success.
New images. Anger- not mine- others. Angry faces stare towards me- though their speech is hidden their anger- body language is not lost on me- they think me unfair perhaps. These angry stairs turn to risen fists, aimed guns, and pointed knives. If I am unlucky enough to have to deal with the later two I lose some money in 'life insurance' that will calm the situation. But the first result I often participate in- I am small- light- young- but quick. The other men seem clumsy- have had too much to drink- and I have my day most times.
Still the interjections continue. The scene seemed good to me-but then others- dressed in blue or wearing of stars- always armed with weapons- show up to rob me of my victory. These star armed men- keepers of useless laws- were not so kind towards me. Many scenes end with me in a cage- a large room sized cage- with those that I humiliated earlier- and with the star armed men grabbing my winnings.
The sitcom returns.
I am now in the bar- I don't want to make a bad day worse- so instead of heading to the gambling table in the corner I instead sit up at the bar. I interact with the man behind the bar- he looks genuinely concerned for me- hands me a beer though I don't hand him coin.
The evening seems to be mellow- me drowning my anxiety and anger beer after beer- peacefully- I even eye the gambling table for a second- but recant my interest. Then a man stumbles into the bar- he was dirty and dressed messily aside from an oddly nice belt buckle- he is perhaps a miner- and was already belligerently drunk as told by his attempt at walking. He is causing trouble- looking place to place- he tosses the gambling table- and stumbles around- he has not found what he desires.
He eyes me- and jettisons to my position- his belt buckle strikes a chord in me- he is a victim of my gambling. He turns me around- starts yelling at me- his voice is silent in the sitcom- starts tossing about- stomping his feet- I show him the insoles of my pockets- empty. This enrages him- but the man behind the bar tries to get his attention- to help me out- instead the drunken fool decides on another path to get his coin. He pulls out a small pistol- aims at the man behind the bar- and points to a cash register of sorts- he intends to rob the place. I attempt to get up- possibly to sneak out- but the drunk clocks me with the pistol- it hurt. Anger and Fear now rise within the memory. The drunk starts flailing his arms- he is angry- he points the pistol at me- squeezes the trigger- but nothing happens. He in his drunken rampage forgot to bring bullets. I am not the first one to get to him- the men formerly sitting at the gambling table surround him- them equipped with knives or chairs. One of the bigger men grabs on to the drunk and lifts him by his collar.
Fear fills the eyes of the drunk- he is terrified- he slips out of his shirt and darts towards the door- but forgets to open it- and his face meets the door in a collision of titans- the door wins. The mood lightens- people's faces show their joy; their laughter- though I am deaf to it, and the memory fades away.
Friday, March 09, 2012 2:05 PM
Friday, March 09, 2012 2:10 PM
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 9:08 AM
You must log in to post comments.
OTHER FANFICS BY AUTHOR
All FIREFLY graphics and photos on this page are copyright 2002-2012 Mutant Enemy, Inc., Universal Pictures, and 20th Century Fox.
All other graphics and texts are copyright of the contributors to this website.
This website IS NOT affiliated with the Official Firefly Site, Mutant Enemy, Inc., or 20th Century Fox.