Pay in to Paradise

The land was by no means gloomy. Indeed, from the flutter of brightly-colored leaves to the rich crunch of virgin soil beneath one’s foot to the colorful graffiti that wrapped age-old buildings in its snare, every aspect of this world seemed designed specifically for the greatest aesthetic pleasure. Examined individually, each component seemed to be a piece of a larger paradise – but there was no paradise to be found here.

There lingered, perhaps in the physical air, perhaps in the minds of those who breathed it, a certain sense of unavoidable evil. The wind, which keened a lonely song, seemed to be only enhance this dreadful sensation, transforming every scene of beauty into something to be despised and fled from in terror. Some unknown figure, it seemed, had draped over this landscape a blanket of pure and undiluted isolation, and it hung heavily upon the lonely buildings of gray brick and far-off hills. The only tolerable place in the entire area was an arch of pearly-white marble, placed upon a hill, and from which ran a path that ultimately became the main street of the town. This arch, standing at about two-and-a-half meters high and with a width of one meter, seemed to be far too thin to have been cut from the rock by any natural means. When near it, one seemed to be free of the detestable and spine-chilling aura that gathered in strength elsewhere, and a large view of the surrounding countryside could be achieved.

This view was by no means expansive – To the south and west were the cliffs, which dropped into cloud-banks that seemed purposefully placed to obscure what might lie below. Looking east yielded the forest, and beyond that, the lake. The town occupied most of the view to the north, yet beyond it were the sea and the deserted plains, to the west and east respectively.

Across this vast landscape stumbled a young boy of twelve years, huffing and muttering to himself in a state of subdued excitement. “Seen the flash,” he wheezed, wiping his red nose, “There gonna be others! They can help, they’ll... they’ll be here soon, and I’ll show them! I made a map!” Pausing for breath, the portly boy shook his head and readjusted his hat, deciding that it was not wise to talk when running.

His anticipation, however, overcame his exhaustion, and the boy was quick to resume his journey up the cobbled path. He thought, if he peered hard enough, that he could pick out the distinctive form of a figure – or maybe two, or more! – coming to its senses near the monolithic white arch.

Ninestone slowly curled out from a fetal position so he was lying on the ground clutching his stomach, almost in a C shape. His head, no, his everything was killing him. For a while he just sat there, fighting waves of nausea and clenching his eyes shut. Of course, he would have to get up some time. He curled up further, almost in a ball, and uttered the first sound he had made since.... whatever happened. "Uuugh."

He was laying on something somewhat soft. It was too natural to be a bed, or anything man made, but wait, what? It smelled like dirt. Seeing as he didn't dare open his eyes, (A flare of light would be painful and possibly even nausea-inducing), he would have to guess by his other senses. He slowly sat up. Wait a minute, it's not even warm when I turn any direction... The sun can't be up yet! He joyfully opened his eyes, to be shocked when a blurry image of a hill and a massive white arch assailed his senses. There were a few other people, insufferable popular kids by the looks of it.

He was particularly confused by this. Where were they, and why the hell were they even here? No matter. He was here, it was better than having to deal with people he knew, and it was night time. He slowly got up and staggered over to the arch and leaned against it, one foot against the wall. He put his stainless steel crucifix into the corner of his mouth as one would a cigarette, the dogtag chain dangling down. As far as he could see he was alone with the sleeping people, so he may as well get something done.

He saw one guy who appeared to be a junky and decided to search his pockets first. Junkies always had the most money, right? The front pockets would be best, that's always where wallets were when he watched people. To his dismay, he found only a lighter and a knife. Both of which would be useful to have, if it wasn't so noticeable when they would go missing. He would have to wait. He returned to the arch and leaned there, waiting for something to happen.

Lying in a heap a little ways down the grassy hillside was a girl.

The girl, a pale, dignified thing of seventeen years, was reluctant to move before she had opened her eyes, and even that small step seemed an insurmountable obstacle.

She had been lying in a patch of what felt like soft grass for quite some time, or perhaps it had only been moments. Thinking on the subject proved useless; the girl could not remember anything prior to awakening on that natural bed. Perhaps she would have stayed in this position, sprawled on the ground, for quite some time had not sounds of movement reached her ears.

Gingerly, her ash-gray eyes opened, and the girl found she was able to sit upright in relative silence. She was clothed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a slight blue half-jacket. A golf cap sat awkwardly on her head in a nest of black hair. Straightening the hat, and tying her hair back into a ponytail with a small green band (retrieved from her left wrist, where she was wearing a collection of five or six such bands), the girl rose to a standing position and observed her surroundings.

She was standing near the summit of a hillock, nestled within a small grove of trees, and overlooking what appeared to be a tremendous drop some fifty yards from the foot of the incline. Turning about, the girl saw an expansive forest on the other side of the hill, and on its cap, a white arch - with what looked to be other people.

Quickly reasoning that no better course of action was likely to present itself, the girl brushed a strand of hair from her eyes - with an arm that looked to be lightly stained all over by various colors of marker - and ascended the hillock, soon finding herself at the foot of the arch, which a thin figure appeared to be leaning against.

Ninestone (That was what he had decided to call himself) watched the other person in their activities after waking up. She messed with her appearance a bit and then came to the hill, for whatever reason. He wasn't particularly sure why he hadn't left before everyone else woke up. Too late for that now. He blinked, trying to clear the foggy feeling from his head.

He stretched and yawned, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable knots in whatever puny amounts of muscle he had formed by laying curled up into a fetal position. He then looked at the somewhat shaded newcomer and said, "You there, the one who's awake. You have any idea why we're here?"

Pain. Unbearable pain. Tendrils of fire seemed to crawl up the young man's entire body, giving him a huge migraine, as well as making old bruises, cuts, and scars, seemingly reopen all at once. He didn't feel capable of breathing, but his body could still perform it's autonomous functions, so he didn't think he was dying. He felt an odd sensation as something dug through the front pockets of his jeans, removing his possessions but then replacing them a few moments later. What had he put in those pockets? His body felt miles away from the island of pain his mind was stranded, but eventually he could think again. It might've been seconds or hours, but since time didn't seem to be moving too much, he went with the prior, although it definitely felt like the latter. He tried to remember what was in those pockets, and came up with a confused memory that seemed to only be there to inform him of his possessions. He had a carving knife and whetstone in one pocket, a lighter in the other, and in the back pockets he had a ball of wax, and in the other... coughs racked his immobile body, causing him to curl up in a little ball, rubbing his stained clothing on... dirt? Grass? He couldn't think about it through the painful coughing. When the painful reflex finally stopped, he had an immense amount of difficulty to regain his breath, but once he did, thought back to what he was lying on. It was very soft, but it had a smell that was rather unfamiliar to him. When he focused on it, the only thing he got was chorus of loud sound, like horns. He tried to think about something else, like what was in his other pocket. He came up with sensations, and a small euphoric reaction in the back of his head. Cigarettes. He needed to smoke one to calm himself down, maybe smoke an entire pack to get lost in the nicotine.

Deciding to name himself after the amount of cigarettes he'd have after smoking one, Twelvecig opened his eyes to see a bright flash of light that stopped him from opening his eyes more than a crack. When the flash faded, he focused on the first thing he saw, which was the soft, mealy soil and the lush green grass in front of him. A few yards away stood a large white arch, with two people standing near it. The arch had a simple beauty to it that it's white color made it all the more powerful. But what stood out to Twelvecig were the people. Real, living people! But then reality seem to catch up. Perhaps they were responsible for this in some way. They looked to be near his age, maybe a bit older or younger, but he wasn't quite certain... One way to find out.
The effort of moving was painful, Twelvecig had to stretch his limbs just to be able to move a little bit, but now that some of his muscles weren't locked up, he tried to push himself to his feet. His attempt was met with limited success, as soon as he got to his feet he doubled over, clutching his stomach. He couldn't remember anything, much less the last time he ate. When the pain became a bit more tolerable, he stood up straight, keeping his left hand on his stomach and digging into his pocket for the knife with his other. He began to move, slowly at first, picking up speed gradually, until he was at a brisk pace at jogging speed. He needed answers, and if these people didn't know any, well, this was pointless.

Nine crossed his arms and sneered, muttering to himself, "Looks like the junkie's awake." He then cast a derisive look over to where the other person was, and despite himself, said "Hey you, could I ask a couple of questions before you start hacking up blood?" He didn't care if he offended the other kid- it wouldn't matter. He was obviously stuck in this miserable place with them, although the architecture was rather nice.

Of course, he was getting himself sidetracked. "Well," He addressed the group of two, "We were obviously brought here for a reason. By who, or by what mechanism, we have not been told. We are in the dark here, people, completely in the dark. To be honest, I could care less about anything but survival at this point, and anyone who tries to impede our continuing survival dies. You got that, knife boy?"

He laughed at himself a little bit. Making myself out to be a badass. Not a chance. Best chance I have is just leg it to one of those pretty little buildings. He then continued speaking. "In light of the developing situation, and the fact that at least one of you is armed, my preferred course of action would be to fucking run." At that, he started sprinting for the buildings off in the distance.

After coughing a bit after stopping, Twelvecig spoke through gritted teeth. "Get your ass back here! I don't intend on using this unless I have to! I just want answers..."

His head was still spinning a bit after his small physical exertion, he replaced the knife in his pocket and bent over, coughing up a bit of spittle onto the soil.

He stopped and turned, feeling tired anyway. He eyed the junkie suspiciously. No way he only wanted answers. There was always an ulterior motive with his type, and the red stains on his clothing only exacerbated the assumption.

"How can I know I can trust you? You have a knife and a lighter, you're physically fit, and to top it all off you're covered in blood stains! Listen man, people aren't honest. Learn that and you might not get fucked over when you buy your next hit." At that he turned around and set off for the buildings again.

Twelvecig watched the other guy leave at a pace he couldn't match, heading for a group of buildings built out of various materials. His mind left the young man quickly, and he began to walk toward the arch yet again, and sat, clutching his stomach, his back to the white rock. His mind wandered a bit, until he realized his head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and he had difficulty breathing. Moving as fast as he could, he dug out his lighter and the cigarettes he carried in his back pocket. He removed one of the cigs and put it to his mouth, then lit the tobacco. Taking one, long, slow drag, he began to focus again on what was important. Food, water, answers. Those were what he needed, aside from the cigarettes he already had.

Food and water would have to wait. He needed answers. Now.

Nestled within the waving grasses was a teenage girl, a ways away from what appeared to be a few others people of similar age. Her eyelids, partially covered by wayward strands of hair the shade of a starless night, twitched as she curled further inward. No sound escaped her pale lips, but her hand batted out as a broken piece of grass settled on the bridge of her nose. Moaning softly, her grey eyes opened.

Voices… harsh and yet… confused, uncertain. Anger weaving through their undertones like magma… soft crunches, rhythmic, like footsteps… there was something moving around.

Fiddling nervously with the hem of the left sleeve of her navy jacket, she pushed off the plush earth with her other hand as she rose to her feet. As unsteady as a drunk, she stumbled sideways. She halted before she went tumbling back to the earth and squinted in the direction those sounds had come from. Looking down, her eyes narrowed slightly as she picked at the side of her black t-shirt.

What is this? When did I… where am I?

She was unnerved at the discovery that not only did she not know where she was, but that even her own name was a mystery. Searching through her scant memories (scant because there was only one), only the number three and what seemed to be sharp blades came to mind.

Threeblade it is.

Satisfied with her choice, the young girl began walking around the hillside towards the noises, dark tennis shoes already beginning to pick up remnants of greenish color from the grass as she went.

Having remained silent until now, watching as the shady boy ran towards town, the older girl frowned. There seemed to be another figure running from the opposite direction.

That would merit a looking-in-to later. For now, she'd best get to know the odd group of people she seemed to have joined.

Turning towards the boy with the stained clothing - who was currently enjoying a cigarette - she cleared her throat. "Hello," she initiated in a calm, relatively low voice, "do you know anything that I don't? I think it is important for us to work together. Perhaps there are others around here that we haven't found yet. Say, what is your name?"

~~~

Twocoats, as he had come to calling himself, had barely started up the hill before another figure flew past. He jumped, startled, and had to readjust the large fur hat that drooped over his eyes as a result.

"Hey! Hey... sir! Over here!" he squeaked, waving, in a desperate attempt to get the older boy's attention. Resigning that he would, once again, have to run, Twocoats set off after him - though at a much slower and bouncier pace.

Nine stopped abruptly. Another kid had called out to him. He turned to the source of the voice. Already guessing as to what this guy wanted, Nine said, "I don't know any more then you, man." It would help to set up his own alliance, though. Most likely junkie boy and the girl were joining forces. It would only be polite to stop.

Once the other kid caught up to him, Nine began surveying him. He seemed to be a good enough kid, very polite. "Please don't call me sir... I'm only thirteen. Call me Nine or Ninestone, please." He said all of that in between ragged breaths. It felt as if someone had stabbed him in the lung with a pinecone.

It was several moments before Twocoats could catch his breath - he stood, bent over slightly, heaving, as if about to vomit. Thankfully, no stomach bile was forthcoming.

Wiping his mouth, Twocoats looked up into the older boy's face. "Right, sir, I mean... Mister Ninestone, sir! You can call me Twocoats!" Visibly flustered, he clamped his mouth shut and, pivoting on both feet, looked first toward the hill and then back at the town. "Reckon there were any others, came along with you? I mean, I mean I been here at least two days. Hey!" - he exclaimed suddenly, waving his arms - "them's folks up there!"

A thought struck Twocoats, and he calmed his demeanor, facing Ninestone once more. "Say, why were you runnin' from them, anyways? They bad folks, or something?"

"They're alright, it's just one of em's a junkie and I wanted to get to shelter as soon as I could. I'm not particularly trusting of the junkie type." Then, on an impulse, he said "But I'd prefer it if you call me Nicole." He wasn't even sure why. It just.... fit. Agh. Sidetracked again.

He held out his hand. "I say we cooperate in this place, agreed?" It would, of course, help. Hopefully he hadn't sent the wrong message by asking to be called Nicole. If this kid was from the bible belt it may not end well for Nicole. Or Nine. Agh. Whatever.

The cigarette helped to calm Twelvecig's racing mind. He took another drag on it, revelling in the smoke filling his lungs and the nicotine flowing into his mind. He had to wait a moment before he could regain his bearings. He had a few drives now. When a voice spoke nearby, he was caught a bit off guard. He hadn't really noticed anyone else. Whoever it was, it was a girl, that much was certain. He practically leaped to his feet, snuffing out the cigarette on the ground with his left hand in the process.

Taking a moment to clear his throat, Twelvecig examined the girl who had spoken to him. She was shorter by about half a foot, with well groomed black hair, and angular features. Her green hoodie was covered in markings of various colors, but what they were was hard to tell from this distance. But the most striking thing about her were her eyes. Gray, like storm clouds.

Taking another moment to collect himself, Twelvecig spoke in a wary, untrusting voice. "I don't remember my real name. But I have twelve cigarettes in my pocket aside from this one," he said, holding up the quarter burned cigarette. " so I figured I might as well just call myself that. What's yer' name?"

He felt a little odd. So far, there were no similarities between either of the two people he'd encountered so far. He still had no answers, and, by the sound of his stomach growling, he'd need to find food and water to keep himself on his feet.

Twocoats, slightly alarmed at the stranger's peculiar choice of name, merely grunted and nodded his head in a submissive way. "Yeah, we best cooperate, yeah... I been working, though! See, I made a map of the town, and there's a food stockpile I been gathering in the main hall! We'd have plenty to eat for weeks, all of us, we'd have!"

Twocoats beamed as he handed Ninestone a crumpled piece of paper from one of his coat pockets.

~~~

The girl paused for a moment, lifting her eyes skyward and to one side. Twelvecig had named himself after what he'd found in his pockets - what did she have?

Biting her lip, she fished through her jacket pockets, then those of her jeans, but found nothing of interest. "I suppose I don't know my name, either. All I know is that I am very, very hungry. Mayhaps we should search from some food."

Smoked fish sounded very good right now. Salmon, perhaps, or trout.

A movement from the corner of her eye caught the girl's attention, and she turned to see another girl - slightly shorter, but with similarly dark hair and a navy blue jacket - ascending the hill.

"I wonder how many of us there are."

Twelvecig paused for a moment, curious as to how they were both very hungry. Must've been quite a long time since they'd been brought here, from wherever they had been before. Still, he agreed that food and water were two things they probably both needed.

In response to the girl's suggestion, Twelvecig cocked his head to the right in thought. He quickly came to a decision that water was probably the most important of the two, if his mouth full of sand was any indication. First, he had to ask a question. "Mayhaps? That's a word I've never heard before..."

Nine examined the paper. It was a well-done inventory of supplies and on the reverse side was a map. He looked again at this stranger. "You seem to be the logical type. That's good, it'll help us stay alive." He gave a smile and then returned to his prior demeanor: Straight-faced with the crucifix in his mouth.

He stood there, thinking. After awhile, he spoke, "These offices seem to be a good area. I'll be there if you need me." At that he jogged off, wondering how he would introduce himself to everyone else. This would be a challenge, especially getting the junkie to respect a guy named Nicole. But he liked the name.

The girl - having started down the hill to meet their new arrival - tossed her head over her shoulder to answer Twelvecig.

"Oh, it's just like 'perhaps.' I say it because it sounds prettier."

She stopped and waved the other girl over. "Come now, it looks like we've got a third member here."

~~~

Twocoats, pleased by Ninestone's compliment, scratched the back of his neck in embarassment. "Aw, s'what anybody'd of done. I'll uh, I'll see you at the offices then, Mr. Nine- err, Nicole, sir!"

As Ninestone departed, Twocoats found himself in an awkward position, both physically and situationally. He - after straightening his posture - decided that it would only be proper conduct to greet the other new arrivals, as well.

Which, sadly, meant more running. With a brief sigh, Twocoats began to lumber across the landscape once more, eyes fixed on the ground, feet taking him to the top of the hill.

At the offices, Nicole moved some cubicle walls around so he had his own little corner. After that was done, he looked around at his new home. It wasn't much, but it didn't suck too bad. It was safe. After that he paced back and forth considering his options.

He walked out and began a beeline for the arch, wondering how to introduce himself. Should he just call himself Nicole? Would they think he was weird? Should he even do this? It could go either way. But he had been halfway, too late to stop.

Though Threeblade was still too far away for the others to see her eyes, if they had they would have seen a tornado of emotions pass through them in the space of only a few seconds. From puzzlement, to happiness, to anxiety and nervousness, and finally determination. Sure, she was pleased that they’d seen her and that one of them had even motioned for her to come closer, but some part of her was uneasy. About what she wasn’t quite sure, but it had something to do with the other people. Maybe she was just generally nervous, after all it isn’t every day you wake up in a strange new place with no idea how you got there or even who you were. Well, at least it wasn’t an everyday thing for her; she couldn’t speak for the others.

It appeared that there were only two others here besides her, at least from what she could see currently. One was a girl, somewhat close to her own age, with similar black hair. There seemed to be a multitude of colorful bands on her arms, the portions that were left uncovered by her jacket at least. Frayed jeans covered her legs. A plaid cap sat jauntily on her head. The other person was a boy, also a teenager from the looks of it.

As she came within a few feet, her uneasiness only increased. The boy had that sort of… sick look about him. Maybe it was the slightly yellow pallor of his skin, maybe it was the disturbing stains all over his clothing, either way he made her even more uneasy than she already had been.

“H-hello,” she said, just loud enough to be heard, raising her hand in a half-hearted wave.

Once he had made it halfway up the hill he started walking faster. He met up with the group of three and sat on the outskirts, waiting for someone to say or do something. Tick. It was a nervous meeting, tense, one could say.

He decided to try and break the silence. "Ummm, hello. I think, if we're stuck here, we should introduce ourselves. Any volunteers?" He looked around and waited for someone to speak, questions clawing at his mind.

At first, this new arrival seemed frightened, nervous, which, frankly, Twelvecig was too. He'd just woken up with a bunch of strangers in a new place in the middle of nowhere, they all had a right to be scared. But this girl seemed to be looking at him, and when he looked down at his clothing and skin, he knew why. But appearances didn't really matter to him, not when they were all stuck in god-knows-where doing god-knows-what for god-knows how-long.

Twelvecig felt awkward, but he tried to make this new arrival feel a bit less uneasy, so he decided to introduce himself. "Uh, hello, you can call me Twelvecig."

Twelvecig still needed to get used to the name, maybe change it to just straight Twelve or something. He didn't know, but when he thought about it a bit more seriously, he realized he didn't really care. Then he noticed the other boy sitting nearby. So, he'd returned? Hmph. Twelvecig repeated his name to the guy, then just stood there uneasily.

Nicole smirked. "A fitting name, I suppose. You can call me Ninestone, or Nine, but I'd prefer if you called me Nicole." There. He had dropped the bomb. He no longer felt quite as nervous, although he felt a strange resignation.

He looked at the new girl. "I didn't see you before. Are you alright?" He hoped to make a few friends, in case it turned into a war of alliances. All just politics. Who's who on day one, the ins and outs of the people here.

Under his breath, Twelvecig called the other boy a jackass, even though his observation was entirely true. He felt more self-conscious now than ever before, mainly because he couldn't remember anything but moreso that he seemed out of place, even among these strange kids. He continued to stand there awkwardly, fighting the urge to pull out his lighter and a cigarette and start smoking again.