Hope

I felt the train shudder as the wheels locked up, sparks being tossed from underneath it's metal hull. The steel prisoner transport, fitted with over twenty box cars packed to the brim with grey jumpsuit-clad detainees, was approaching the prison. Soon enough, each of these poor souls would be ripped from their steel benches, handcuffs biting into their flesh as they're dragged ruthlessly down the concrete hall, and eventually crammed into a small cell no bigger than a broom cupboard. How do I know this? Well, I've been through this process twice... In a prison that's said to be 'inescapable.'

"Saint Mary's Home for the Socially Unstable." What a joke. It's almost like they were scared to say the word 'prison.' Whatever they called it, it's inhabitants labeled it 'Tartarus.' This place was as isolated as it gets. It was as if you were plunged into the depths of hell itself and locked in a cell of fire, doomed to never see another human for the rest of your miserable life. Some-- Most people go insane from the solitude, others? Well, they simply just die. They fall asleep one night feeling just fine and dandy, and the next morning, never wake up to tell themselves about how lovely of a nap they just had.

The riots broke out around the 23rd century. Banks were robbed, schools were bombed, churches were burned right down to the very foundations they stood upon. Hundreds of thousands of people died during these violent revolts. Some innocent, others criminals of the nation... Honest, hard-working citizens were lead to believe those were the 'Sinful Days.' Of course, The Righteous rose from the ashes of the chaos like a Phoenix hell bent on rage. They quickly 'Liberated the Sinful from the Earth, forming a safer haven for the rest of us.' Thats fancy words for, 'We gunned down the innocent, and spared the ones who kissed our boots.' The rest of us know better, we aren't blindly herded into believing false truths like the rest of Britain. The Rebellion, we know the revolts were more than that. They weren't just the darkest days for Britain... 'The Glorious Revolution', as the rest of us title it, was a demonstration of true power. We wanted a republic, and yet, we received a tyranny.

I let traces of a smirk creep onto my lips as we arrived at the unloading platform. "Show time." I mumbled to myself, shifting it in my cuffs. A guard, fully clothed in black riot gear, stood in front of the automatic doors. His metal plated gloves clutching automatic assault rifle as though it were the only thing that stood between the him and the prisoners. In all reality, his thoughts were slightly true. If a single prisoner tried revolting, he'd shoot him down as though he were nothing but a horse with a broken leg. It's not true in the sense of if the whole train rushed him. There couldn't be more than thirty rounds in his clip, where there were over two hundred prisoners... Sure, many would die, but the guard would be dead as well. There's power in numbers.

As always, there was no revolt, only cocky teenagers shouting jeers and insults at the guards. Most of which included some obscene remark about their mothers. Each one of us slowly herded from our packed box cars, and lead out onto the cold concrete platform. One teenager, larger than the rest, grunted as the guard shoved him against the wall, grinning maliciously behind his steel faceplate. The teenager simply grinned back, pausing a moment before spitting a wad of saliva directly into the eye-slit of his mask. The guard let out a stream of obscenities as he brought up the barrel of his rifle. He didn't hesitate a second as he pulled the trigger, several sharp cracks sound as the wall behind him painted in a fine crimson mist. A small mumble sounded beside me, turning I met eyes with an old man, old enough to be my grandfather.
"What?" I ask, my tone sounding harsher than I intended it to.
"Some would say he's the lucky one..." He replied.
"And what do you think?"
The old man pauses a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he contemplates my question.
"Life is precious" He finally mutters, his wise old eyes drifting along the track, "wether you're suffering from cancer, or researching ways to cure it..." He pauses once more, his eyes meeting my own, "That includes being locked in a cell for the rest of your life..." With that, the old man goes silent.

Hope... It's all this man had left, and it's what would keep him alive for the remaining years of his life. Hope is the nectar of like that drives each and every one of us to get out of bed in he morning, and pray that we'll have the strength to walk through the lifeless void we call reality. Hope is a necessity of life. Hope, is what's running dangerously low these days.

An ear-shattering crack broke the silence of the platform. Before I knew what was happening, the head of the armored guard in front of us turned to a fine pink mist, his body crumpling over in a heap on top of the tall teenager from before. A split-second, deafening silence fell over the platform like a shroud, it's inhabitants unsure of whether to cry out in horror, or scream out in fits of joy. I guess a little of both filled the silence.

Nearly twenty armed guards immediately filled the corridor, guns pointed at chest level, their fingers tensed on the trigger.
"Nobody move!" One shouts, though his demands were quickly drowned out by the chaos inflicted on the platform. Once more, I let a smile creep over my lips.
"Show time." I mumbled once more.

Authors Note: This is just a 'teaser' I guess, to the rest of my story later on. If you like it, of course, share and comment. :) Constructive criticism is always good.