The Sentinel Project

The Boy on the Ice

Never throughout history has there been a greater threat to human life, than human nature itself.

-unknown

Through the tearing gale of ice and snow, a young boy hobbled quickly across the frozen lake. The wind ripped shards across his pale skin as if they were knives, splitting at his exhausted face. Each and every time the wounds would open, only to seal shut seconds later. For the boy was not human. Not anymore.
His hair flung violently in the squall, black as charcoal against its pure white surroundings. And beneath the hair, a pair of tired eyes; one of hazel and the other, solid silver, with blackened, bloodshot veins.

His breathing was unsteady, like a crying child. His baggy shirt was torn, ripped and burnt. His black jeans, slashed into shorts. Bare feet. Nose, red raw. No longer could he walk. No longer could he stand.

The ice cracked slightly as the boy collapsed onto his knees. With his head tilted backwards towards the sky, he took one last deep breath. Exhaustion would be his subduer in this battle to escape. Just ahead of him, the ice field sifted into a fluffy white snow, becoming a forrest coated in white pines. The Pale Trees. The torturous storm of the lake was behind him, but now he faced his end at the hands of those he once longed to be.

"Target located, orders Lieutenant?" The radio crackled as the black, armored suits approached from all sides. Their short, ebony capes whipped behind them. A quartered spherical disc sprung over the side each helmet like a horn, covering half of the face and leaving a glowing red eyepiece on the opposite side. In their hands rifles were held tightly.

"Copy that. Eliminating target." The guards lifted their rifles to face the boy. Hopelessly, he stared back at the first one to fire. From out of the weapon, a clap like thunder sounded and there was a bright white flash. A beam of pure light broke out of the barrel, hitting the boy across the shoulder. There was no fight. Just a muffled thud as his body smashed savagely against the earth from the force of the rifle.

Ribbons of smoke rose from the burn as he lay there, almost completely still. Only his chest still moved in and out, slowly, as he waited to be put down. Waited to be euthanised like some kind of rabbid dog. Waited for the end. Just like they had done to his mother, they would now do to him. And no one would know. None of his friends. They would be standing in the ceremony right now. Celebrating, being honored for their achievements of becoming Sentinels for the Reign Foundation. But not him. He would die here in the cold. He would die here alone.

Back in the city, the city of a thousand javelin like skyscrapers, the others in the Sentinel Program smiled and waved out at the crowd of civilians. In a line, nineteen young men and women stood ranging in age from fifteen to twenty two. All of them wore the same uniform, a black button up with trousers and shoes to match. The city square was crowded by the cheering heads of half a million onlookers. On the edges of the square, transparent fields of electric blue separated the rich and worthy from the scum of the streets. Black, Reign Gaurds stood ready, tightening their hands around their rifles as the homeless made eye contact from the other side of the net.
"It has been eight years in the making, but now, finally, we see the product of our hardship!" The voice boomed over the loudspeaker as the crowd went ballistic. "People of Angel!" The man boomed once more, flicking his tail coat and running his finger along his mustache. "Twenty! successful! SENTINELS!!!"

"Make that nineteen." Claire whispered to the short fat boy who stood beside her. "Where the hell's Que?" Her hair was long and brown, frayed with loose curls and held off her face by golden hair clips. She was sixteen, the same age as Que. A glint from the bright lights that shone in their faces would reflect from her braces every now and then, but they were not allowed to shield their eyes. "How should I know? He's your boyfriend." The short boy teased.
"He is not my boyfriend."
"Maybe he skipped? You know he's not big on public appearances." The boy guessed. His hair was a short blonde, combed up and back neatly. Already, he was begining to shoe patches of facial hair.
"Maybe." She muttered sadly. "He said he would come though..."
The voice boomed once more. "But we would not have you leave here with hollow hearts! No ladies and gentlemen. You came here to see... SENTINELS!!!"