~Kenna London~ (Chapter 7)

Men and women and children, all in one room, a vast room, but it would barely hold the volume of its inhabitants. They clung to each other and sobbed, tears blurring the vision of some, but other just sitting in stunned silence, eyes dry, waiting for their impending doom. I was one such person, staring out at everyone. My body felt light, like I was just watching the scene in front of me, not really there. It was shock, turning my already pale face pasty white, and rocking me on my feet. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, and I felt as though I had to take deep gasps of the stale, musty air in just to breathe. No one knew where we were, no one knew anything. It was the ignorance more than coming death that moved silvery tears out of the eyes of those in the room. There was nothing worse than not knowing.
And then, a man had come up over a balcony that I doubted anyone had known was there. He had a sallow face and sunken eyes that gave him every resemblance to a corpse. And a corpse he was. The grim reaper of the thousands choking in this room. He appeared human, but there was something off about him, maybe his height, which rose over seven feet, or his jet black robe that skimmed the floor, perfectly fitted in every way. And then he spoke.
"People of New York City!" He called, voice rising above the masses without the aid of a microphone, "You, as you may well know, have been selected to participate in our experiment." He spat every word as if it were a disease, although he voiced them with pride. A confusing mixture, but malignant in every way, "Now, to begin, please separate yourselves: minors to the right, and adults to the left."
The crowd had no intention to move. Mothers and fathers clung all the tighter to their children, and adults and minors alike stayed in their places.
From doors, seamlessly flesh with the wall, strode men and women, tall and equally pale to the man on the balcony, with robes of deep burgundy and expressionless faces. They tore children from parents, set brothers and sisters of differing ages apart, and dragged them, crying, to the right side. The air quickly filled with screams and sobs of anguish, so much that it was hard for me to bear. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be in the shelter, even if I'd have to stay there for fifty years while all the word went to chaos around me. I didn't want to be here.
knowing I wasn't yet an adult, I quickly hurried to the left, not wanting to be touched by the strange people. Then one of them stopped me, closing their cool, skeletal hand around my shoulder, forcing shivers down my spine. It was a man, bald, but with a nasty smirk on his face and a mouth full of perfectly white teeth. He might have been in his forties, but it was impossible to tell.
"State your age." He commanded me.
"Seventeen."
"Adult enough," he said and shoved me off towards the right before nonchalantly walking off and settling himself in the middle, between the halves of the population along with all of the other robed newcomers.
The man on the balcony resumed his speech, "Good. Now that that is taken care of, we will be escorting you through these double doors in front of you in groups of one hundred. The approximate time of wait in between these parties is one hour and thirty minutes." He started to exit through the door behind him, then turned around to meet all of the fearful, confused faces underneath him and uttered one word, the equivalent of death to them. "Commence."
The robed people who had been standing still as statues for the remainder of the man's speech moved forwards towards the adult half and began to count people off.
A sudden surge of panic shot through my bloodstream, and I clenched my fists, muttering quietly under my breath, "Please. Not me. Not me. Please, not me."
But then one of them strode up to me, burgundy cloak swaying silently behind her, and stopped, pointing her thin, bony finger at my face.
"Eighty-Eight. Through the doors." She said, in a cruel voice that shot through me like bullets and I wanted to sink. I wanted her to pick another eighty-eight so I could sit here with everything that was vaguely familiar, with a crowd of people that could comfort me, but she shoved me off towards the front, and I had no choice but to follow the other ninety-nine people making their sad exodus away from what they loved.
And into the unknown I plunged.