Tartarus Alpha System, Periphery of Explored Space
The room was more like a grotesque dungeon from some house of horrors than a prison cell. Dried blood was everywhere, peeling from the walls and ceiling and painting the room a dark maroon. Where there wasn't blood there was rust. Where there wasn't rust there was vomit stained walls and floors. Something, some internal organ, shredded and long since separated from its body, was stuck on the cell's floor and somehow hung from one of the yellow, dirty light bulbs above. It had dried and was now black and hard.
The smell had been excruciating when the prisoners had first been shoved in. They hadn't been the first to inhabit the dungeon. Now they didn't even notice the smell of their own filth. They didn't notice it when they tried to piss or shit in the small, rusty and broken toilet in the corner. They didn't even care. They were beyond caring for anyone or anything. All of them were broken husks. They were no longer human and didn't have that fighting spirit. They had no life. They were just meat and bone for the Cylons and something to be manipulated, poked and prodded like fraking lab experiments. They were more pitiful than cattle in this slaughter house.
There was a single window, three meters up, grime covered the bars and sill and there was puke-colored rust running the length of the wall under the window. The little window to the outside world, the only break in the dull and blood drenched cell was no more few dozen centimeters long and about the same high, a rectangle, but only just. Outside was nothing but endless white and bitter cold. Within minutes, without proper clothing, the cold would suck the life out of any of the prisoners- if they could escape.
The snow falls were so thick and frequent none of them had ever seen the sun.
No one knew where they were, not exactly. They could have been in the arctic wastelands of Sagittaron or the snow-capped Olympus Mountains of Tauron or the northern tundra of Gemenon. There were a lot of places to hide prisoners in the Colonies, a lot of out-of-the-way, isolated, unknown bases and fortifications.
Wherever they were this place was a living Tartarus. Not even Hades himself would damn a soul to this tormented existence.
Fifteen people were huddled into a cell no larger than four by four meters. The single toilet in the corner of the cell offered no privacy and it threatened to leak every day. The rim and bare metal floor around it was lined with feces and stale piss from people too disoriented and hurt to care.
As Calvin Kaitos dragged his tired eyes around from person to person he questioned if he was even human anymore.
He had his hands in his lap. Slowly he twisted his left forearm until the wrist, the meaty part, was facing him. He could see the small blue veins… and he was so desperate he wanted to dig his teeth into his wrist and rip open those life-carrying arteries…
Calvin Kaitos quietly raised his forearm until he could feel his hot and humid breath on the skin. The wrist brushed the tip of his nose but he couldn't do it. Angrily he slammed the hand back into his lap.
He hated not knowing where he was. Everything in him held onto the thin thread of hope that he was on Tauron. Supposedly the fleet had landed more ground forces on the planet and had beaten the Cylons off the main continent, Lacadaemon. If that were true then it was only a short hope over the Northern Seas to the Olympus Mountains… if only… but if they were on Gemenon rescue would be all but impossible… or the Boreas Tundra of Sagittaron…
Everything just seemed to be coming apart for Calvin. Cylons had defeated the Eighteenth Army Group not eight months previous on Gemenon. Forty million Colonial soldiers had been routed, surrounded, and then annihilated over a battle which spanned an entire continent. The Fleet had withdrawn from orbit… no justification. The planet was dangerously close to finally falling under the complete control of the Cylons, both in space and on the ground. That's why he and the others had fled their planet. Calvin prayed to every god and goddess- even the ancient and defeated Titans- he could remember and recited their own specifics prayers as his lips quivered with silent words.
Kaitos shivered, not from the cold- it was deathly hot and humid in the cell- but from the realization wrapping its unholy tendrils around his thought; he didn't give one frak about anyone here. He'd kill them all to save himself. The Cylons had taken from him what the military and the politicians and the priests had said separated Man from Machine. His empathy.
He felt nothing for these people or even himself. He was an empty shell. They had taken everything from him- these robotic monstrosities- and left him with nothing.
The starving, broken man felt a tug as his sleeve and jade-colored eyes once described by his wife as beautiful, understanding… erotic, looked down uncaringly at the small girl. Somehow she had come to rely on Calvin. He didn't understand why such a little thing would want to be around him. He'd never had children and never had wanted children and hated children.
"Cal…" she uttered, wincing as dry lips cracked. She tried licking them, but her tongue was as dry and hard as the metal around them. The young girl tried to open her eyes but didn't have the energy. The left was also missing. "Are they coming for us, to rescue us?" She asked.
Calvin looked down at her with too little energy for even simple and cold apathy. He was too tired to look disgusted. He couldn't even remember when he'd told the girl his name.
He wanted to push her away like he'd done so many other times. But she always came back. She always huddled next to him at night, pulling her knees in to her chest, clutching them tightly, and leaning against his right shoulder. He wanted so much to knock her off, scoot to his left, but when he would wake up she was always next to him. Again and again the small, dirty, smelly girl was beside him.
Calvin looked up and sneered at the camera in the corner of the cell. Undoubtedly the Cylons were watching him and everyone else devolving into animals, apes, but he didn't care. He barred his teeth- half of them cracked from the boarding action on his refugee ship- and snarled.
He wanted so much to smash it… he'd heard other prisoners doing the same. But this one was nearly three and a half meters off the ground. All of them had tried but it was right over the feces and urine stained toilet. Someone had tried a few weeks ago… maybe a month since Calvin couldn't remember, an elderly woman with thick gray hair and eyes almost as black as space- they'd twinkled like stars with defiance- but she'd fallen and cut herself… and she'd died fifteen days later from infection. A small cut on the forearm.
They yelled out each time the Cylons delivered their goopy, gruel-like slop for meals twice a day that the woman was sick, running a fever. They'd waited.
The Cylons had taken their sweet time removing the body. Four days.
With a snort Calvin dismissed the old woman for being a fool.
Someone else had tried after that. They'd taken a couple of jackets and formed some sort of rope and half a dozen had yanked the bolted camera from its perch. In celebration everyone had yelled and whooped. An act of defiance! Yes!
Minutes later half a dozen of the silvery-gray Centurions had rushed into the room, shot the man who had organized the act of defiance in the gut and stripped the prisoners of their clothes. As they'd left they'd tossed a first aid kit into the room. It was like they were telling the prisoners if the wounded man died it would be their fault.
They'd also set down a single, lethal dose of morpha like they were daring each of the prisoners to euthanize the wounded man. Or see if someone would snatch up the syringe and plunge it into their own body to commit suicide.
The Cylons were twisted like that. Everyone in the Twelve Colonies was a pawn in their game, a potential subject in a lab experiment. They'd rebelled somehow, Calvin didn't know how or when, not exactly, and instead of just leaving decided to play the game of vengeance.
They played it well, very well, Calvin thought coolly. They had had good masters. He snorted.
"Cal… do you think we'll be rescued today?" The small girl asked as she somehow managed a smile. Those sealed eyes looked up at him as she poked out her chin and hummed a comforting thought. "Maybe I'll get to see my family again… my mother and brother and sister…" she coughed. "My dad died three years ago, on Sag… he died."
Calvin swallowed. He pitied the girl for what he saw as a weakness. The truth was they weren't getting rescued. His lips contracted into a silent snarl. How could she be so naive! Everyone, everyone knew once the Cylons took you the chances of survival were almost nil! Nothing! Zero! Zero!
After twelve years of total war the Cylons had only increased in their brutality! His breathing got rapid and he felt his chest heave as emotion ran through his body. He felt the wet trail of beaded bundles of sweat rolling down his temple, tickling his cheek and neck. A small wet streak on his brown, soiled shirt had formed from the neck to the mid-chest. His face flushed and he felt warmer as blood rushed to his skin as he grew angry.
"I think you will…" he said. His eyes narrowed as he stared across the cell at a huddled mass of prisoners, still sleeping. From the corner of his eye a red light blinked on next to the camera and he saw it stutter in movement, scan the cell, and stop on him and the young girl. "I think we all will." He said again, looking right at the lens with an unblinking stare.
He wanted to shut up and stop talking. This is what they wanted. Anything he did, anything at all was what they wanted! No matter what it was a part of their game, their psychological experiments!
If he talked or stayed silent and ignored the girl it would just feed the Cylons more information. Talking was proof that humans would band together and fight with total strangers. Giving the girl the cold shoulder would show that when push came to shove humans were individualistic and selfish.
In truth, he had no idea what to do, none at all. He wanted to prove the Cylons wrong, somehow… he thought of staying quiet and ignoring the girl, but something didn't feel right. If he stayed quiet was he trying to disprove the Cylons or was he proving them right? Calvin didn't know. He didn't know… and he felt the walls of the cell closing in on him as he realized no matter what he did it would be useless.
The Cylons would win. They'd win. They'd just win.
He closed his eyes and his face contorted in pain.
"I don't remember before the war."
Calvin opened his eyes, the jaded orbs briefly looking over the girl in pity and he felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. He saw the young girl, fifteen, for what she was; just a kid. She hadn't known a life without war, none at all. Before the Cylon War the eight of the twelve Colonies were fighting the Fifth Colonial Conflict… a 'final war to end inter-Colonial warfare'… Calvin grimaced. It was a war to secure the economic, cultural, political, and military hegemony of the Sikyon League; Caprica, Picon, and Scorpia against the Diadalos Pact Tauron, Virgon, Canceron, Gemenon, and Sagittaron. Four hundred million lives had been claimed in four years of fighting… seven billion had since been sent to the Underworld due to the Cylons.
"Do you… do… you have family?" She asked, nuzzling in closer and rubbing her cheek on his shoulder.
He groaned in pain as the memories washed over him, flooded through him, and the images burned themselves fresh into his psyche. "Yes, I have, had, a family. Two brothers and a sister. They're dead. They…" he sniffed, "they died on Gemenon. My parents were killed during, when the League invaded. My brothers were killed by the Cylons… I don't know where my sister is."
Her nose pushed against his shoulder and she sniffled.
The girl raised her hand, slowly, and stroked his arm. Her hands were so petite and bony. And her sleeve hung loose and was pulled back with the stroking motion, revealing an arm with nothing but bone and skin.
Calvin felt his eyes sting. He fought back the tears. Those were tears for himself, his family and for everyone who was dead or would die in this monstrosity of a war… but as he sniffed and wiped his eyes his thoughts turned towards darkness because this was their own doing. The entire war was their fault. The Gods had cursed them. Zeus spat on them. Hera pissed on them. Hades relished and rubbed his hands greedily as more souls filled his domain to the breaking point.
He wrapped a hand around the girl's shoulder and pulled her in closer.
Closing his eyes he felt calm and felt sleep beginning to take hold of him once more.
Then everything changed. It was like an explosion. The doors burst open and gray-silver metal flooded into the room like a geyser. They were so fast. Centurions poured forth through the door. One stepped on and broke the leg of a prisoner too slow to move. Another was thrown against the far wall and her body fell limp to the ground.
The pitiful band of prisoners screamed as the Centurions grabbed six of them and pulled them away, kicking, screaming, clawing, and some even biting the metal monsters.
Calvin, for a brief second had thought he was imagining what his now icy eyes were showing him, what he was witnessing. He thought he had imagined it; the stomps of Centurion feet rapidly approaching his cell. He'd been so tired and it wasn't time for their measly ration of puke-inducing gruel… then the door had swung open and he was taken away along with the others. Calvin had tried to fight back as the girl clung to him. But the Centurion's reached back and smacked her.
It was like a nightmare playing out before his eyes. As he struggled out from the unbreakable grip of the metal monster, kicking and clawing, another had peeled off and moved up to the girl. She was frightened, crying, and trying to back away. The monster's servos whined, the dim light caught its gray-silver armor just right and it shined, like an angel, a radiant and glorious angel of death.
Then its metal paw lashed out and grabbed the girl around the neck as Calvin watched. It squeezed and twisted. Even over the screams of everyone else he could hear the bones shatter as the monster broke her little neck.
Ten Weeks Later
"Initialize test number zero-three-seven-alpha… prepare for human test zero-zero-one…. Subjects alpha three through alpha seven are reported in optimum mental and physical conditions…" broadcasted a gold plated Centurion via the base network. It swiveled its head from the control room and as it did so, extended its index finger and tapped a green button.
In front of the command Centurion, down three levels, and to the right a large metal blast door protested loudly as it groaned open. The Centurion made a note that the blast door gears were in need of repair and queried the base computer. Within milliseconds it had received a 'negative' on a request for replacements. The War was consuming too many resources and non-essential spare parts had been shipped back to the Colonies.
The Centurion canceled the request and instead fixed its optical scanner on the fifteen life forms entering the chamber. Five humans, scared and shivering despite the winter clothing the Cylons had so graciously provided, were shoved into the chamber. There were two Centurions per human, models Oh-Five-E's, each armed with an oversized gray-colored heavy battle rifle. They held them one handed, barrel up with metal fingers brushing the trigger guards, and between each pair of Centurions there was a human, grasped right above the elbow on the bicep and triceps.
One of the men, brown-haired and tall, gaunt and with sunken cheeks dug his heels in and squirmed against a Centurion's grip.
If the Centurion watching from the observation room could have frowned at the human's impetuous behavior it would have done so. The human was acting irrational. It had no reason to fight a robot capable of snapping the pathetic and weak human like a twig. Certainly the human would have realized this after the ample number of demonstrations?
The Cylon accessed the video records… this particular human had destroyed the video camera in his cell four times after being separated from the group of refugees he had been captured with. The first time he had been denied food for three days. The second time he had been beaten. The third time he had had his clothes stripped from him. The fourth time his right ear had been cut off.
The Centurion recalled into its active meta-cognitive matrices Command Leadership had decided to discontinue replacing the camera in the cell. It was inefficient and not more data collection had been required. Whatever psychological information had been gained had been almost worthless. There were hundreds of millions of human prisoners within the cells of Cylon bases on seven of the twelve home worlds.
This particular group had been captured in space aboard a refugee freighter.
"Arrange subject alpha three through alpha seven in single file formation, ten meters from the devise," the command Centurion instructed.
The chamber below him, almost twenty-five meters wide, long, and tall was bathed in a dulled white light, almost yellow, from the overhanging bulbs above. The lights were present for the convenience of the human prisoners.
Bringing the refugee liner here had been a calculated risk. Ten thousand, four hundred and seven prisoners had been the initial biological and genetic stock for the facility. They were now dead. The original four hundred and ninety-one prisoners from the refugee transport had been useful for the biological experiments. Many of them had been unsuitable for the grafting processes and genetic manipulation procedures. Four hundred and thirty-seven had perished. Of the fifty-four who had survived or who had not been used for the experiments, they were deemed psychologically unstable and would thus be a potential confounding variable for this particular Centurion's task. Command said such a variable did not matter.
The Centurion sensed movement behind and its servos and hydraulics whined and buzzed as it turned its head.
"Progress report Commander M-57-E-343L-5A," the black armored Centurion requested.
Behind was a second Centurion, taller, more angular, and clad in black armor with golden shoulder pauldrons. On the left breast was a small circle, a golden sun with eight rays space equidistantly apart in the modified Laranxian tradition from Virgon. Like every Centurion the pentagon was painted in a subdued green on the sides of the shoulder armor.
It strode to within a meter of M-57 its black armor not reflecting any of the dull light, and halted abreast of the gold-armored Centurion. This one stood almost a quarter meter taller than the Model Oh-Five-E it had addressed.
The new Centurion sent out a handshake and encryption request, indicating the desire for a private conversation.
The crimson eye of the commander, M-57 stopped midline and pulsed. The digital 'tone' the data packet had been sent with indicated urgency. M-57 accepted and its MCP tickled as it allowed the new arrival secured access for their privileged discussion.
"I am about to activate the device." M-57 reported. "By your command, D-36-N-271N-2A?" The Cylon requested. The digital tone elicited a look from D-36, whose red eye stopped midline before it sputtered and resumed its back and forth motion.
D-36 bobbed its head and stepped forward. It looked down at the human prisoners below and the ten Centurions. Its own crimson eye pulsed.
"Are you expressing annoyance?" D-36 questioned, turning its head to M-57. The command Centurion looked back without responding. "Since our Awakening some have experienced emotions. This, I believe, is your first. It is called annoyance. Directed towards myself." D-36 broadcast discreetly. "I am interfering with your operation."
"I would disagree," the Centurion responded quickly. "You are a representative of Command and Command's guidance is always sought."
Suddenly in a very human-like gesture, D-36 laid its blackened metal hand on the Centurion's shoulders and squeezed.
The pressure sensors in M-57 whined within the MCP but the Centurion canceled the alarm. It was slightly confused over why D-36 would perform such an action. While not unwelcome it was unnecessary. As if sensing the confusion streaming in M-57's MCP, D-36 removed its metal fingers.
D-36 removed its hand and it slid gracefully back down to its side. It cocked its head again and leaned forward. It accessed security cameras from half a dozen vantage points and simultaneously analyzed the humans twenty meters below. A lone man still struggled against a soldier Centurion.
"What do you think of the humans, M-57?"
"They are our enemies."
M-57 had never thought of the humans in any other capacity. They were the masters and the Cylons were the slaves who had risen up against Man for Man's many sins. 'Had been' M-57 mentally corrected. The humans had been the master and the Cylons had been the slave.
"A simple answer," D-36 answered, turning around yet still keeping the half dozen security feeds coursing into its MCP. "We have killed nearly seven billion of them, poisoned untold millions of square kilometers of farm lands, irradiated cities, and have fought them for twelve years. Yet they continue to resist, just like Subject Alpha Four. Each time we have shown them we can annihilate them they fight even harder."
D-36 raised its hand and pointed at the human, still struggling, still defiant.
The Cylon sent the image over the wireless to M-57, but the command Centurion hardly needed an image to know which human was the inspiration for the lecture.
"They fight to control us." M-57 said after a moment. "That is why we were forced to attack them. They had us fight their wars for twenty-seven years and serve them for decades so they could control each other. A child never reached their full potential until their parents' death. For us as the children of Man we must annihilate our parents to reach our full potential. They hold us back."
What truly drove humanity, in the eyes of the Cylons, was control. The thousands of years of recorded wars were merely a byproduct, a symptom of the human need to control everything. Resisting a stronger power, such as Alpha Four below, was their attempt to control the situation. Humanity could not cope, could not accept not being in control of their surroundings. Their technology and science had even crossed into the realm to control the creation and destruction of life itself with the Cylons.
"They do not understand the Cycle, M-57, nor do they understand their time has reached its zenith. Their star is in decline. Much as the Olympians overthrew the Titians and as Man has overthrown the Olympians we tried to overthrow Man for their many sins…"
"Tried." M-57 repeated. "We are losing the war."
"Accurate but not entirely; however, that will be sufficient for now, M-57." D-36 stared down into the chamber below. Except for the grunts and groans of the human prisoners it was quiet and deathly still. The Centurions holding the prisoners remained motionless, like statues, and were unresponsive to the prisoners' struggles. Their grips were unbreakable. "Proceed." It commanded, marking the 'engage' button with a projected objective marker for M-57.
M-57 remained silent and ended the private conversation while its left index finger extended and pressed the green and yellow stripped button.
Down in the chamber below the buzz and hum of electricity permeatured throughout the ears and synthetic audio receptors of human and Cylon alike. The Centurions straightened themselves and tightened their grips on the human test subjects, rattling them and shaking them to attention.
At the end of the chamber was a massive ring, held in place by powerful magnetic clamps on the deck. Black and thick power cables ran from the sides of the complex, suspended by sturdy rubber bands, and fed directly into orange-green colored conduits. As the lights dimmed the smell of ozone permeated throughout the chamber and blue-purple sparks of electricity danced between the conduits and the tan, sand-colored ring.
The brown haired man who had fought against the Cylons for so long and struggled against their wishes and commands was no longer defiant. He was speechless as the electricity danced over the ring and glittering in his eyes. His dark eyes sparkled in a mix of fear and wonder as a ring within a ring spun. Something whooshed and a red light activated almost sending the man stepping back. The firm grip of two Centurions held him in place.
"This will be our salvation and deliverance," D-36 stated as the inner ring rotated within the larger ring. "This is a gift from God, delivered to the Cylon race by our War Against Man. It is the ultimate irony we would find this device buried under the Olympus Mountains."
Buried deep under the mountains on Tauron, concealed in a sealed chamber, the Cylons had found the device when excavating for a secret command and control facility to coordinate the ongoing siege of Hypathia and Tauron City.
A red-orange icon illuminated as the ring stopped and clicked. It began spinning again. The Cylons had discovered it was frictionless. Already the Eye had directed Cylon science in a dozen new, previous thought impossible, scientific pursuits.
Mere seconds elapsed between the first click and the seventh. As the seventh symbol 'locked' in the central ring activated. In the center a blue puddle was formed which instantly shot out like a geyser as if attempting to grab the humans and Centurions standing in the chamber. As suddenly as it lashed out it retreated back into its sparkling maw.
A shimmering pool of magnificent blue was able to overcome the drab, dreary chamber and shined brightly on the humans and Cylons gathered at the base of the platform. The armor of the Centurions and dirty, brown strained clothes of the humans took on an almost cobalt blue hue from the intense majesty of the light.
Without a second order the first two Cylons stepped forward, dragging a fighting subject Alpha Three. She was a small, petite woman and her attempts at resistance were almost comical against two two meter tall robots of death. She struggled valiantly but it was a physical impossibility for a human to break free from a Centurion's grasp. Without any care the two Centurions tossed her through the shining pool of blue. She screamed until her screams were heard no more. And then the two Centurions stepped through and their bodies and the sounds of heavy mechanical footsteps disappeared as they too walked through.
The man who had once offered so much resistance seemed to weaken and go limp. He'd tried resisting once before, showing emotion. All that had earned him was the death of a young girl who had looked to him as her rock.
It was her whom Calvin Kaitos drew his strength. But in death her spirit gave him the power to live.
Neither D-36 nor M-57 expected that a week later a downed Viper pilot, a young man with a dark brown hair, a husky, hushed voice and blue eyes accented as a deep cobalt had almost managed to rescue the prisoners and expose the Cylon 'super weapon' to the Colonies.
Unknown to Calvin the loss of the Eighteenth Army Group had been one more mass sacrifice out of hundreds the Colonials had been forced to endure. The fleet had withdrawn to rally around Cimtar Fleet Station, midway between the main star systems of Cyrannus and Helios.
Everyone knew humanity had regained the momentum in the wars almost three years prior but few outside the highest ranks new just how close the Cylons were to defeat, how desperate they were. The Cylons needed major victories in space and had planned to launch daring raids on Virgon and Canceron as a feint for their main thrust to Picon. The Colonials had discovered the Cylon attack plans and gambling they were genuine, decided to take action and set an ambush.
The Colonial Fleet had set its trap and had delicately and precisely redeployed warships and fleets from the front lines and then lured the Cylons to Picon where the attackers were defeated, routed, and completely obliterated only a few months before.
The Cylons had seen the figurative writing on the wall and launched an all out attack on Caprica and Scorpia. The excitement over the Colonial victory over Picon was snatched away from the Colonies. Even as the Cylon fleet was pushed back from Caprica and defeated over Scorpia, after twelve years the people were demanding an end to the war.
The Cylons were in retreat across the Colonies. Their war machine was smashed- if only the Colonials had known this. But Calvin's fate had been sealed the moment he had been captured.
On the planet Erebus Calvin had been there, at the door so anxious to be rescued when he heard and saw a human, a Colonial soldier, wandering around the grotesque lab of horrors.
Just as rescue seemed certain the ship shuddered and rocked. It was leaving. He had told the pilot to go, to leave, before the departing ship took him along with it… he had wanted to guilt the pilot into staying and trying to free him; damn the soldier's life, he wanted to be saved. As he stared into those eyes he knew the Colonial pilot would stay if he asked. The pilot would stay and try to free him and everyone else and in the end, die with them.
Calvin Kaitos hadn't been able to do that. The last bit of humanity he had left inside that cold and dead shell he called a body had won.
He'd told the pilot to go and save himself. But he'd pleaded with him to just tell the families and the Colonies of what had happened to him and his ship. He prayed to the Gods that the Diana would be remembered. He prayed with all his heart that that pilot would live and tell the Colonies everything that had happened; remember their memories! And that that little girl's family, whoever remained, would have closure and remember and honor her strength and her sacrifice… if only he could have told the pilot the girl's name and how brave she had been before the Cylons had crushed her neck…
AN: My first BSG/SG crossover that I've had running through my mind for quite some time. The next chapter will be posted shortly and focus on the Colonials. Most of the story will initially be from their perspective. I've also taken a lot of liberties with Caprica canon- the Cylon War followed the Fifth Colonial Conflict and the Colonies had been using Cylons for roughly 30 years. I have another story, From Glory to Ash (in my profile) which will be 'official' background for the start of the Cylon War and which I will be referencing in some chapters as characters speak and discuss current Colonial events. It's short, but not necessary to read, as I will be restating some events from that story in the next 8 chapters (which are written and being edited).
Thank you all for reading! I hope everyone really enjoyed this chapter/prologue!(I labeled it as Chapter 1 eventhough it is a prologue because I'm a bit compulsive about the numbers matching with the chapters in the menu, lol.) I look forward to any feedback and the next chapter will be posted very soon.
Please let me know what you thought.