I blink awake staring at a carpeted floor. Faintly, I feel the whole world moving. My hands were bound in handcuffs as I sat on a cushioned seat in between the two brutes that had snatched me out of the park.
"You're finally awake? About time."
I pull my eyes away from the floor to the woman in front of me. She wears a disgusted look on her face.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"Why? You signed for it, what do you mean? This was all in the contract. You'd get ten minutes and then we'd take you to Orientation."
"What if I want to back out."
"Oh, then we'll have to ask you to get out here." She stated matter of factly.
She nods to the large man on my right. He slides the door open, and all I see is an inky black. The smell of salt filled the inside cabin, and the cold, salty mist sprayed in through the opening.
"... never mind." I sit back down.
"Good. It's too late to look for a replacement, and you won't count toward the final number until your feet touch the ground again."
"How long was I out?"
She held up her wrist.
"...30 hours?"
"Thirty...hours. Where are we?"
"Currently, somewhere south of Cape Horn."
"What? Where am I going?"
"Orientation." Three loud knocks emanated from the dark wall behind her, "Ah, we're almost there."
"Where?"
"You are not a good listener, are you? We're almost at Orientation."
Just as she finished...whatever we were on came to a jolting stop.
"Here we are."
Noise bustles on the other side of the door; howling wind, whirring of helicopters, and the sounds of many feet crunching beyond. The man to my left stands up and once again slides open the door. Blaring light shining off of white snow nearly blinds me as I'm forced out of the vehicle. I glance back as the woman steps out of the vehicle. As far as I can tell, it was a long black boat, but as soon as the door was slammed shut, it sped away; vanishing from view as soon as it left the ring of light that surrounded the island.
Through the veil of white snow, I can make out a compound. A thick, white wall surrounds it, and a large, round-topped hangar building, where the sound of chatter rises out of a slightly open door. Several helicopters sit on the very edge of this island, and several dozen boats rest upon its frozen shores.
The man beside me pushes me along. The cold was biting. Coming from temperate California, this was quite the system shock. Just a day before, I was snorting meth beneath a tree in a park; worried about being found out by certain people I owed a debt to, and now I was...where? Cape of Hope? I have no clue where that is. But it's cold and wet.
I had only seen snow was about a decade when it snowed in Porterville, but now I was nearly knee-deep in it. Somehow, the men around, and the woman taking up the rear, however, were able to glide across it without sinking down inside of it. Once we reach the tarmac, they pull me up. A guard, armed with a black rifle approached us.
"Miss Zhi, welcome back." The man took her bag, and she clicked her heels free of the rare flakes of snow that managed to stick to them.
"Thank you, are we the last ones here?"
"Indeed." The man said, "Orientation begins in…" he looked at his watch, "Fifteen."
"Good. Is Ian in? I need my payment."
"He is. Building 3."
"Thank you, John."
Her heels click against the tarmac as she hurries into the compound, and vanishes from sight.
"This the guy?" He looks to my handlers.
The one holding my left arm nods.
"Ugh, they just keep getting worse, don't they? Though we have some pretty good ones this batch. Take him to the hangar to wait with the others. I'll go tell Gillian that the last one's here."
I glare at the man and he rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, real tough, tweaker. Get in there." He says. He pulls out a walkie-talkie from his pocket and presses the square bottom of it to his chin.
The men pull me along through the gate. As we pass by the threshold it feels as if I've walked through a wall of gel. The cold that had been assailing me vanished and it was replaced by a stale warmth. Not even the wind I can hear howling just outside of the gates touches me. The soft white light that floods the compound seems to come from nowhere that I could see, but it permeates everything.
I glanced back trying to figure out what had happened, but I was soon pulled along by the two men beside me. Chatter bleeds through the large sliding door of the hangar. One of the men slides open the door and leads me through into the hangar.
Fifty people waited in this hall. Ten chairs had been sat out in the middle of the room, and all were currently occupied. The ones who occupy these chairs were decidedly...cleaner than those of us who are forced to stand. Clean haircuts, some in uniforms, and some in high school jackets with the current year on their sleeves. The rest of us, who were forced to stand, look dirty, unkempt, or deranged. A few people among the standers wore orange jumpsuits, while most were either like me; frazzled and frayed and strung out on some substance or another. A few picked at invisible scabs across their arms or swatted at invisible gnats buzzing around their heads. There were very few women among us; about two or three, and each looks as haggard as the men. Among those that had been offered a chair, there was an equal amount.
I was pushed into the group of people by the two men, who then took their leave to stand with the other guards surrounding the outskirts of the warehouse; guarding the entrance and the windows to the hangar. I was shoved into the shoulder of a rather rowdy-looking man; with sun-bleached hair, and sun-bleached beard, with sunburnt, peeling skin. He was a reflection of me. He shoves me back and has to be restrained by a few of the others near him. I wonder, briefly, if they came in together before the blaring of feedback drew the attention of all of the people gathered there and hushed the crowd.
"Good evening everyone...uh...if I could have your attention please."
The voice was unhurried and uninterested. I turn to look at the stage at the far end of the warehouse. Standing front and center holding a wired mic is a man with dark, unkempt hair and a rough beard. His wrinkled blue suit fell messily over his thin frame, and a pair of crooked glasses sat on his pointed nose.
"I'm Gillian and I'm here to welcome you to our White Company or whatever," he yawns loudly into the mic. "So...welcome. Any questions?"
A seated woman raises her hand. She looks barely 20, with neon pink highlights in her hair, and a dark coat over her shoulders.
"What exactly is it that this, 'White Company,' do?"
"Ah. I guess you wouldn't know." The man said. "We are...well, to put it bluntly, we're a company of mercenaries that have been active for...Christ, what was it...400? 500 years."
"Wait, so we're going to be fighting?" The woman asks.
"Yeah."
"Where?" Another pipes up; a young man that looks as if he were on the verge of graduating high school.
"Well…" The man sighs and turns away from the microphone before mumbling, "Man, why are there always questions. Goddamn it...I just want to go back to sleep...shit, was that picked up?" He glances back to the crowd, "Well. Where to begin...this world isn't exactly how you know it."
The young man scoffs.
"What, it's flat?"
A slight chuckle breaks through the room.
"Ah, has your recruiter already briefed you? Good. It'll make things easier."
The room goes silent, and the young boy laughs. He waits for a moment for a reaction from the man on stage, but no reaction indicating it was a joke came. He clears his throat and begins again before begin cut off by the same young man.
"So I signed up with a cult? Unbelievable. I'm out of here."
He pushes his chair to the ground and stomps toward the door.
"Ah man, you really want to leave?" The man on stage says.
"Yes. Shove your cult nonsense up your ass, I'm out of here."
The men guarding the door glance at the man on the stage, and the man on stage nods.
"See him out, will one of you?"
They move out of the way, and the boy pushes through the door. One of the men follows.
"Uhh...anyone else wants to leave?"
A few of the people in the crowd of us standing shove their way out of the crowd and head for the door. Personally, I don't care if it was a cult. At least I won't be stepping in front of a semi anytime soon, and I'd be compensated for my time. All in all, about five or six people filter out the door; mostly from those sitting down. I suppose those of us standing felt a similar way; what did we have to lose even if we thought the statement was ridiculous.
"Uh, is that everyone?" The speaker continued.
No one else in the room stirred; we shared glances with one another.
"Alright, go ahead." He directed this at the men near the door.
They follow the others out.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Seven gunshots roar outside, and I feel a deep dread flow through me. A few of those of us standing fall to the ground trembling. I know the same question is echoing through each of our minds: what had we gotten ourselves into?