Psycho School

A young boy, no older than eighteen, sat sniffling and shivering in the back of a moving armored bus as it bumped and jostled in transit. He, alongside two other teenagers, were being transported to... somewhere. His captors hadn't said where. All he knew is that one day he had been arrested by badge-wearing policemen at university, fitted with some sort of collar, and then forced onto this bus. The lack of windows meant he couldn't see where they were going and all he could see was dimly lit by the illumination strips running along the corners of the boxy prison.

It felt as though his life had ended. And though he did not yet know it, in many ways, it had.

Eventually, long after he had lost track of how long he had been moving, the bus came to a halt. There were sounds of metal grating against metal, electronic buzzing, and the stomping of heavy boots outside the van. This was it. He had arrived at wherever their destination was.

The metal doors at the back of the van flung open and two ranks of armed guards waited outside of it, their faces hidden by black face shields. The dozen guards pointed firearms at the boy and the other two occupants with one man loudly shouting for them to come out slowly and with their hands up.

Timidly, the boy raised his hands and stumbled to his feet, shuffling out of the bus and hopping onto the concrete ground in the blinding sunlight. He felt strong hands grab his arms and start to walk him away from the bus and as he began to regain his sight he could finally see where he was. The boy discovered that he was inside a large prison-like complex with towering concrete walls, watchtowers, and uniformed guards at entrances. As he was dragged towards one of the concrete buildings, he thought he could see figures watching him through a wall-sized window above the entrance.

The guard pushed the boy through the door and into the clinical interior of the concrete building with the other two teenagers close behind him. They were directed into one hallway after another until finally they were brought into a bright white room. The boy was brought forward first and forced to sit in a reclining chair. A man in clinical surgeon's garb approached and grabbed his arm, pulling it into a metal armrest and clamped it shut. A robotic arm quickly extended and began to tattoo a number into his forearm and while it made him shout in panic, the robot was quick enough with the sharp tattoo needle that it didn't really hurt. After that, he was quickly checked for any wounds and his reflexes tested by the doctor shining a light in his eyes before being released. A guard grabbed him and dragged him to the side of the room while the next teen was put through the same process.

Once all three were processed and their numbers assigned, they were brought into a new room. The boy yelped as he was forcefully undressed and given a standard white uniform and briefly protested to no avail as his hair was quickly and evenly shaven off, leaving just a bit of fuzzy stubble behind.

Finally, he was brought out of that last room and into a large, rectangular chamber with three levels and heavy metal doors lining the walls of the rectangle. He looked up to see the open sky above him and blinked at the brightness of the sun. The guard grunted and pushed him onwards and guided him to one of the heavy metal doors and, after pressing his gloved hand to a panel, the lock beeped and the door slid open. The guard shoved the boy to the floor inside and the door slid shut behind him.

The boy rolled over to watch the door slide shut from the floor and finally realized that his life really was over. He looked around the faintly lit room to see it was some sort of cell with padded walls, a concrete floor, a small shower and toilet enclosure, and a single bunk bed set against the wall furthest from the door. He got to his feet and hobbled over to the bunk bed, his now bare feet shuffling on the concrete floor until he sat on the sturdy bed. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he hung his head low.

"M...mom..." He whimpered quietly. He didn't know what else to do.

"Sorry, she can't hear you in here, kid."

The boy startled, bumping his head on the top bunk as he jolted in surprise. He clutched his injured head as he looked around for the source of the voice until he felt a shaking in the bunk and suddenly a head, pair of arms, and torso swung over the edge of the bunk bed and hung upside-down in front of him.

A girl with radiant blonde hair and a bright smile looked back at him and giggled. "Don't you know? Concrete's real good at stopping sound. Why do you think they make prisons out of it?"

She rolled off the top of the bunk and somehow landed on her feet, standing up and regarding the boy with an inquisitive expression. "So, you're my new roomie, huh?" She leaned in and extended a hand, "What's your name, kid? How old are ya?"

The boy, more out of bewildered compliance than understanding, extended his hand to hers which she grabbed tightly and shook. "B-Bo. I'm Bo. And I'm e-eighteen."

The girls' eyes widened slightly. "Eighteen? Sheesh. Sorry for callin' you kid. I'm Lucille. I'm seventeen. I think. It might be sixteen."

Bo's eyebrows knit together in slight confusion. "You... don't know how old you are?"

Lucille shrugged as she let go of Bo's hand and crossed her hands behind her head, stretching out her back. "Yep. I lost count a year or so ago. I'm a lifer, y'know?"

Bo shook his head slowly. "I... I don't know. What's going on?!" His voice became a little panicked as he once again came to the realization of what had happened to him.

Lucille's face turned to concern as she approached him again. "Hey, hey, it's okay... sorta. Look-" She held out her arm, her forearm exposed from under the same bland white tunic that Bo wore. "We got matching tattoos, that's so embarrassing."

Bo looked at her arm through watery eyes and noticed that she did indeed have a similar tattoo to his own sequence of numbers, but it was far more faded and a little smaller. She held a smile until her gaze started to fall. "You... uh, well, I guess you have questions." Lucille flopped onto the bunk bed beside Bo, leaving some space between them. "I'll answer what I can... no sense in going in blind here."

Bo looked at Lucille for a long, quiet moment. She didn't return his gaze. "Um... I guess the simple question is where are we? And why am I here?"

Lucille brought one leg up and rested her head on her knee, finally looking at Bo again. "You're at Government Facility Thirty-two. You're here because, like me, you have some sort of supernatural powers. They brought you here to figure out what they are and how to use them."

Bo's eyes widened slightly. "L-like... superheroes?"

Lucille giggled mournfully. "Like superheroes. Government-controlled ones." She tilted her head further and pointed to her neck. Bo saw a collar similar to the one he wore around her neck. "They made sure of that."

Bo shuddered at the way her voice had turned cold but once again his brows knit together. "But... I don't have any powers. I... don't think I do, anyway."

Lucille shrugged again as she lightly rocked in place. "You don't always know before they do. I've heard they have machines to tell if someone will develop some sorta power... apparently that's how they got me..."

Bo looked at Lucille again and saw her eyes staring a thousand yards away. She looked sad, but like she didn't know how to express it. "I... I'm sorry."

Lucille's face broke into a weak grin and she started to get up again. "Don't worry about it." She stretched again as she got to her feet. She turned and once again she had her radiant smile. "You just worry about learning what you can do. After that... we can figure out what to do with it."

A loud, electronic buzzing broke their conversation and a red light lit up above the room's door. Lucille looked at the light first and then back to Bo. She cracked a small smile and held out her hand again. "Ready to get started?"