The sun hung low in the ashen sky, a pale, listless orb veiled by layers of smog that seemed to perpetually cling to the horizon. The air reeked of decay and rust, mingling with a faint, acrid tang of burned plastic that stung the nostrils. This was the dumpyard — a sprawling wasteland on the outskirts of the empire's glittering cities, where the refuse of modern convenience found its final resting place. Here, the discarded remnants of industry and indulgence formed mountains of twisted metal, shattered glass, and rotting food. It was a graveyard not just for the unwanted objects of society but for its forgotten people as well.

A boy, no older than five, crouched among the debris. His small frame was wrapped in layers of tattered cloth that barely held together, his feet bare and calloused. His hair, once perhaps a vibrant chestnut, was now matted with grime, and his sunken cheeks spoke of days spent hungry. His eyes, however, were sharp — a piercing green that still retained a flicker of defiance despite his surroundings.

He sifted through the refuse with practiced hands, careful not to cut himself on the jagged edges of broken glass or rusted metal. A single half-eaten apple core caught his eye, and he snatched it up, wiping it on his sleeve before biting into it with the urgency of a child who didn't know when his next meal would come. The taste was sour and unpleasant, but it was sustenance. 

Around him, other children moved like shadows among the heaps of trash, their small figures blending seamlessly into the landscape of discarded scraps. They were gaunt and silent, their movements efficient as they scavenged for anything edible or of value. A girl with a tangled mane of black hair pulled out a dented can, shaking it to hear the rattle of what might be leftover food inside. Another boy, slightly older, wrestled with a piece of scrap metal, his wiry muscles straining as he tried to free it from the pile.

These children were the lowest of the low, the nameless and faceless casualties of the empire's prosperity. They had no homes, no families, and no futures — at least, none that they could envision. 

The boy, his apple core now nothing more than a gnawed husk, was about to move to another pile when a low, ominous hum filled the air. It was a sound that vibrated through the ground, causing the loose shards of metal and glass to tremble slightly. The other children froze, their heads snapping up like startled deer. They knew that sound all too well.

A shadow fell over the dumpyard as the ship descended. It was a massive, sleek construct of black metal, its surface gleaming faintly despite the haze of pollution. Twin wings extended from its sides, lined with glowing blue thrusters that pulsed rhythmically. At its base, a series of hatches began to open, revealing dark, cavernous interiors. 

The ship was from the military. 

It hovered ominously above the dumpyard, its engines releasing a low, steady roar that seemed to shake the very air. This was not the first time it had come here, and the children knew what it meant. Panic spread through the group like wildfire. The older ones began to run, their scavenged treasures abandoned as they scrambled to disappear into the labyrinth of trash. The younger ones followed, their small bodies darting like frightened animals. 

But the boy with the piercing green eyes did not move. 

He stood still, staring up at the ship with a mixture of awe and defiance. The hum of the engines was deafening now, but he didn't flinch. He had heard the stories, whispered among the children. The ship came to take them — to whisk them away to places unknown. Some said the military raised them to be soldiers, their childhoods erased and replaced with training and discipline. Others said they were taken to factories, forced to work until their bodies gave out. 

For the boy, the ship represented something he couldn't quite articulate. Fear, yes, but also... possibility. 

From the belly of the ship, figures began to descend. Soldiers in sleek, black armor, their faces hidden behind reflective visors, landed on the ground with practiced precision. They carried no weapons openly, but their presence alone was enough to inspire terror. 

One of the soldiers pointed toward the boy. 

"That one," the voice was cold, metallic, distorted by the helmet's built-in communicator. 

Two others moved toward him, their strides purposeful and unrelenting. The boy didn't run. His small fists clenched at his sides, his chin lifting in a gesture that was almost challenging. 

"Don't move," one of the soldiers said as they reached him. 

The boy didn't reply. He simply stared, his green eyes reflecting the soldier's impassive visor. 

The soldier knelt down, their black-gloved hand reaching out to grip the boy's shoulder. It was not a rough gesture, but it was firm, brooking no argument. 

"You've been chosen," the soldier said. 

Around them, the dumpyard was eerily silent. The other children had vanished into their hiding places, watching from the shadows as the soldiers began their work. One by one, they emerged from their hiding spots as the soldiers systematically searched the area, rounding up those who couldn't run fast enough or hide well enough. 

The boy was led toward the ship, his small legs struggling to keep up with the soldier's longer strides. As he approached the open hatch, he glanced back at the dumpyard. The piles of trash, the other children, the life he had known — it all seemed so small now. 

The interior of the ship was cold and metallic, lined with rows of seats and dim, flickering lights. The boy was strapped into one of the seats alongside other children, their faces pale and drawn. Some were crying silently, their tears leaving streaks on their dirty cheeks. Others stared blankly ahead, their eyes empty. 

The boy didn't cry. He didn't scream or struggle. He simply sat there, his hands gripping the edges of the seat as the ship's engines roared to life. 

As the ship lifted off, leaving the dumpyard behind, the boy felt a strange mix of emotions. He was terrified, yes, but also curious. Where were they taking him? What would become of him? 

He didn't have the answers, but one thing was certain: his life would never be the same.