Aylward stood in front of the table, staring at the pistol. This kind of situation again. The man turned to look at the man in the suit, then at the young woman in the chair. Putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Ward crouched down in front of her, patting her cheek to bring her around. "So, what's your name? How old are ya?" he asked, rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet.

"I'm....Branwen....23 years old. Why do you ask?" she asked, tilting her head. Her raven black hair fell down to pool on the floor. For some reason, the sight of that made Aylwards heart clench, and only strengthened his resolve.

"Well darlin', it appears I'm holding your life in my hands. You're in luck." Ward said, standing and heading back to the table. He picked up the pistol, turning it back and forth in his hands. He closed his eyes, and in that state took the gun apart and reassembled it in five minutes. He was rusty. Taking the gun up again, he went back to Branwen and stared down at her. "Don't worry, it will be over with soon." he said, putting the barrel against her head. Tears fell from her violet eyes, but she refused to make a sound. A strong girl. With a sigh, he tightened his finger, and a bang echoed through the room.

The man in the suit fell to the ground, blood trickling from the bullet hole in his forehead. Ward went behind Branwen and untied her hands. "Well, I don't know where the hell they'll send us now, but I'm not gonna have an innocents blood on my hands. I'll take care of you, till the end."

Rax groaned. God she felt like hell. She was regaining consciousness and she slowly began to pick up on things; the cold hard surface that strained her back, the utter emptiness of the room, devoid of noise. She was definitely not in her warm bed on 5th avenue.

She opened her eyes slowly, cautiously, but her vision was blurred by sleep. Her body felt stiff and heavy, as if she'd been drugged or knocked unconscious with a two by four. She Didn't see anything that posed a threat at first.
In fact, all she saw around her was a bright whiteness. She reached out, searching for a wall to cling on to, something to support her weight, but just reached into emptiness. The room seemed infinite.

A low sound shuffled behind her, and she spun. Too quick. Her head swam angrily and her forehead pounded. A man in a dark suit stood before her, a wicked smile playing across his already unattractive features. Beside him, tied to a chair, his eyes full of fury, was a man. He looked to be about her age.

She forced herself to think clearly, taking in her surroundings, never taking her eyes off the men before her. The only other thing in this white abyss was a small table. On it lay a black, steel hand gun. She had one like it in her nightstand at home.

"What do you want?" She demanded, her voice shaking, stumbling slightly as she moved towards them. Yes, she had definitely been drugged. Shit. It made her feel so weak and slow.

The man just smiled and opened his mouth to explain his little, twisted game. She listened, anger growing by the second. She had two choices, kill and better the odds, or don't kill and meet the unknown. Neither particularly appealed to her. What was this, some sick science experiment?

"So Raquelle, what is your choice?" The man looked up at her, eyes searching. If this really would be a quest for survival she need to end his life, did she not? A forest would provide cover, shelter, and food... plains were a death trap. But could she take his life?

She'd never killed before and the mere thought of it made her stomach churn. Then an idea hit her.

"How about option three?" She jumped, drawing her fist up to his face, for a powerful blow. Yet her hand hit nothing but air. He whizzed out of her way at a super human pace, pushing her as he passed so that she fell face first to the ground. She rolled and darted away.

"Ah, ah ah. There will be no doing away with me Raquelle. Whether I live or not you must choose... the program in this room, these very walls will decide your fate even if I am gone from this world." Her face contorted in anger and her eyes flared.

The man in the chair looked shocked but stayed silent. She growled in frustration and turned to him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, barely more than a whisper. The man looked to the instructor, if you could call him that. He shook his head and the mans shoulder slumped. He was obedient, even when he could possibly die. Weak? Perhaps.

She started pacing, her anxiety growing with each passing second.

"Time's running out Raquelle." The instructor cooed, as if he was her friend, looking out for her best interests. Good she wanted to smack him one. She ran her fingers through her hair, trapped in thought.

"No." She finally said, her voice hoarse. "I can't." But then she shook her head in defeat. She had to. She had to live... was that not more important? "I mean... I..." She fell silent.

"1 more minute. I wasn't kidding Raquelle. Make the choice or you'll both die."

She went to the table, her fingers caressing the metal of the gun. The man's eyes widened in fear and tears streamed down her cheeks. No... no... This wasn't real... she couldn't. She could, and she knew it. One pull of the trigger and he was done for, she would get a good chance to live...

She held the gun at her side and leaned towards the man in the chair. She kissed his cheek softly and whispered to him the last words he would ever hear.

"I'm so sorry." Then she raised the gun in her shaky grasp and pulled the trigger. As the bullet left the chamber a part of her soul went with it and she closed her eyes tight.
His head snapped back, and she heard the sound of his brains splattering, matter falling to the floor. Blood was all along the white floor when she opened her eyes and she crumpled to the floor in shame. Oh god. What had she done?

"What in the hell?" Roger asked, looking around but seeing nothing in the whiteness of the room. He squinted his eyes, and began opening them gradually in order to see better. When his vision cleared, he noticed two people. One in a chair, looking somewhat frightened, and one in a suit, looking confident....

"Just what's going on here?" Wells asked, immediately focusing on the man in the suit, who was clearly in control. The man explained, and Wells turned his attention to the handgun, he had barely noticed it while focusing on the man in the suit and the girl in the chair. "So you're telling me, I either shoot this person, or I don't?" Roger asked, and the man in the suit nodded. Roger picked up the handgun and held it toward the girl in the chair. His eyes immediately reflected his fear, and Roger slammed the handgun down on the table. "I'm not quite sure who you are, or why you're doing this, but I have morals. I will not shoot this girl, you arrogant, pathetic, worthless, BASTARD!" Roger roared, glaring at the man in the suit.

He only laughed, of course. "Are you sure, Wells?" He asked, and Roger knew that this man had even more power than he at first thought. He didn't know how, but Roger was certain that this man was in control of something big... Way bigger than Roger could expect to handle until he learned a little more. He didn't even question the fact that the man knew his name. In fact, he had somewhat expected it considering

"I'll go to the Plains, but what will you do with this girl?" Roger asked, but the man in the suit turned around.

"I'm afraid you won't be finding out, Mr. Wells, but you will be going to the Plains. Best of luck to you," The suited man said, and I knew I would be facing hard times.

"You'll be paying for this, I assure you. My God is a God of vengeance, ya fucking Suit, and you'll be meeting him soon," Roger didn't know where he got the line from, if from anywhere. He didn't even know whether he actually believed in any god whatsoever, let alone whether he was vengeful.

"I'm sure," the suited man said, and Roger felt his stomach clench. Something about this man was dark... Roger reached a resolve.

When I get out of this, I will ensure this man reveals to me not only what he's doing, but I will ensure that he looks at me with eyes full of fear, right before he dies...

He stared.
He couldn’t think to do much else, here he was, locked in the bleach white room. The man wasn’t there- in his mind at least –it was only him, and the girl.
He felt horrible. This was a girl his age, for God sakes. He decided to do something about it. It was him, a gun, a girl, and a choice.
Morality gripped him by the throat.
On his left hand, mentally, he could shoot her. His brother had trained him with military tactics, and proper use of weapons and the sort anyway. But, if he did this, he’d go to a forest. A forest meant cover. Cover was good, and he was at home in the forest. He knew hoe to survive there, and he’d been trained by his brother, his friends, and himself, in stealth. He knew the five rules of camouflage. Shape, Shadow, Silhouette, Spacing, Sound he went over it quickly in his head.
He may actually survive in a forest.
But, on his right hand, he couldn’t kill the girl. That was much more like him. That was how he was raised. Chivalry and Justice.
Don’t be stupid. Think once for you, once for me, and again for dad.
His brother’s last words to him before his tour of duty. His father, and his brother were biggest role models. Isolde, Meagan, his saviour and his lover. Most of all, his partner.
What would they all say? He sighed heavily, crouching next to the girl, gun gripped tightly in his hand. “Hey,” He said softly. The girl didn’t reply, she stared, shock, he thought, she wouldn’t reply. That wasn’t much help. He was thinking of getting to know her a bit.
It wouldn’t work, he was on his own.
Starting to pace, he raked his free hand through his hair. It helped him think. Holding the gun tightly still, thoughts swarmed in his head, gripping at him.
I can’t kill her! He thought, leaning against a wall. But the forest is cover, the plains are open fields. There’s no way I could survive- Wait… He paused his mental monologue. What if I can survive, Logic, he smiled. If I’m sent to the plains, I didn’t kill an innocent. Chances are good anyone who would be there would be people who can’t kill. Moral people., His stare held the ground. If I go to the forest from killing her, I might be paired with people who’re just completely insane. Twisted. More cover in the forest though, but maybe more killing… The plains… I may have allies… He nodded. He turned to the man- back in the equation –and crossed his arms.
“I won’t kill her,” He hoped to the God he’d betrayed that he’d made the right choice.

'Breathe ...
just breathe ...
now open your eyes ...'

She forced herself to calm down, to no avail. She still hadn't moved from where she'd fallen. Or placed, should that be the case. Her entire body trembled, forcing her to acknowledge how terribly vulnerable she really was. Her vision swam before her, but she blinked the haze away. She had to keep her eyes open. She needed to get up some time.

'Good ...
there ...
now ...
stand up ...'

She didn't want to move. She wanted to lay there forever, forget whatever it was her mind wanted to remember, and just float away into nothingness. It was an option. But she knew she couldn't. She had to keep her head on straight.

Slowly, she struggled to her feet, the trembling making that a daunting task. She found herself blinking again. The stark whiteness of everything was dazzling, and she swayed slightly, her hands out in an attempt to right herself. It helped, eventually.

She looked around, clutching the chain around her neck desperately, as if it were her lifeline, and letting go meant oblivion. If anything was worse than this. She turned, and stepped back, startled by what she saw. Everything was white. Absolutely everything. Until she came to A man in black. Against the sheer nothing, he stood like a living void, sucking every colour and every emotion into his very being. Then there was an object floating in mid-air. No ... she squinted. It was a gun. And it wasn't floating. It was on a white table, which seemed to blend into the background like a chameleon. And there was a young boy. Definately her age. He wasn't floating, either. He was bound to a chair. He looked helpless.

The man in black spoke. She had two choices, he said. To kill the boy and be released into the forest. To spare the boy and be released into the plains. Timid as she was, she was confused more than anything. There were too many unanswered questions floating around in her head. Where was she? What was this place? Why did she have to decide? Why was she chosen? Was she the only one? Who were they? Why was she here? She could go on. And she did.

But she couldn't kill. The boy hadn't done anything. He was probably just as scared as her. She shook her head timidly.

"Is that your decision?" The suited man affirmed, expressionless. She realized her anxiety and her insecurity must've been obvious. She nodded her comfirmation. She liked the plains. They were wide open and had a strange sense of freedom to her. Logic had left the building. Survival tactics were the last thing on her mind. She just wanted out of that black and white room.

"Very well." He nodded, as if thinking to himself.

The plains. She was going to the plains.

Meagan hoped to God she would be okay.

THUD... THUD...THUD...

The constand pounding in the back of his head repeated over and over, the dull throb of pain, seeming to grow then fade, before growing once more. His mind was trying to peice together what was going on, he felt weak, groggy. His body didnt want to respond but he tore his eyes open and wished he hadnt. All around was a blaring whiteness that burned into him, intensifying the throb in his head. "wha... Where?" He took a moment then dragged himself to his hands and knees, and then to his feet, using what appeared to be a table to drag himself up.

His head swam as his mind peiced together what he saw before him. A man, all in black, just standing there, watching him. Another man... No a woman sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table, her head downcast, dark hair covering her features in shadow. Then his gaze moved downwards and took in the shiny black handgun that sat on the table before him.
"what... What do you want?" he asked the foremost of the many questions on his mind. It was the man in black who answered.
"For you to make a choice, Grason".

Grason listened in disbelief as the man explained his situation. He looked at the pistol on the table and for a moment considered shooting the man in black. No, the pistol might not even be loaded, this could all be some kind of sick test. Besides, there was no way he could intentionally kill anyone. He looked at the handgun once more, it seemed to be watching him, waiting silently for him to grab it and shoot the woman. Grason knew there was no way he could do it though. To actually commit to the cold blooded killing of another human being was beond him.

"No..." In one movement Grason swept the gun from the table, and it clattered onto the floor. In that same sweeping stroke he took a few stumbling steps backwards and his back hit the wall. He slid down it till he was sitting once more on the cold white floor. "I refuse to kill her. Do what you want with me". As Grason once more let the pounding in his head take over, darkness seeped in. The last words he heard there were,
"Very well. The plains it is..."