"Kristen!" I scream as the knife plunges for his heart. His attacker, hearing my voice, loads a pistol and shoots me. The bullet misses my vitals, but lodges itself into my arm. Crying out with pain, both physical and emotional, I stagger towards Kristen. The attacker disappears like a ghost. The ground feels chipped and broken as I kneel down beside him.

"Ersline," Kristen whispers, his mouth filled with blood. The knife had entered just a few centimeters away from his heart; but that was enough to do horrible damage. "Stay here. Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere," I sob, cradling his hand between mine. "Kristen. . ."I brush back a lock of straw-blond hair from his face. Those amber eyes hold the connection with my multicoloured ones and a multitude of unsaid things, both aloud and telepathically unsaid, pass between us.

As I watch, his eyes grow dark and lose the glimmer of life. . .

"Get up!" the guard snarls, kicking my bonds.

I give a great shudder and wrench open my eyes. I'm in a room, pure white, gleaming and spotless, blaring its brightness at me like an enormous silent megaphone, before I figure out that the light's coming from a ridiculously bright lightbulb attached to the ceiling.

"Hmph," sniffs a woman's voice. "She's awake. Get her onto that chair."

Two pairs of rough hands grab me like living vines and I have no chance of resistance, even if I wasn't tied up. With two rifle barrels trained on me—pretty useless, seeing as I can't go run—they plonk me into a rickety plywood chair, one of four arranged in a neat semicircle.

As my eyes adjust to the light, I see a green-suited, black-haired woman, not very high, sitting primly in a plush chair opposite me, whose manner is more suited to being a lawyer than someone greeting kidnapped magifolk. She beckons impatiently towards a door. and several other guards enter. 

I jolt back in shock.

Because they're bringing three other children in. And all of us are, most likely, headed for the same fate.

This is massacre!!! I want to shout. Undeniably ruthless massacre!!!

As my head slows down, I take in my—what do I call then? Teammates? Allies? Oh whatever—and memorize their faces, because who knows how many human beings I'll ever see again.

The guards dump a boy down in the chair on my direct right, and I turn my head to look. He nervously shakes a strand of chestnut-brown hair off his face as he. . .I don't know how to explain. Tries to stay alive. Maybe. With his mousey attitude and pale blue eyes and pale, stricken face—good luck to him on that.

To his right is put another boy, one who seems 18 and with hazel eyes and and strawberry-blond hair. I don't know how to describe his eyes. Cold and warm and dark and bright all at once. I close my own to block out the awful weirdness of my eyes.

When I open them again, I see another girl, put at the direct left of me, and I know her face. I know it from somewhere. And she leaves an impression on me that I can describe and that I'm not likely to forget.

She's got slate-grey eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. The recent gash on her cheek suggests a recent fight, like mine. But her aura—her  heartless, cold, ruthless aura that spreads from her fingertips to the tips of her blonde hair—that frightens me—actually frightens me. She gives me a long stare which send shivers through the very centre of my bones..

"Arnisses," says the green-suited woman, "you have been Snatched on charges of resistance against those who have places themselves above your kind since before you were born. There will be no trial. No pleading. No judge. Because we judge. And we have judged that you are guilty of those charges applied to you."

Ohhhh god. Please. No.

"However," she continues, "we are merciful enough—" Merciful?  What a load of rubbish. "—merciful enough to allow you one more chance at life. Therefore, you will be put into the Room for a week. No killing each other." She rolls her eyes for no reason. "After that, if you live, then you'll be made into lifelong  slaves for us. If you die. . .well then that's that."

That's that. If we die then that's that.

Between death and lifelong slavery, I would choose death.

"Now, we'll meet our newest convicts."

Convicts????

She seems to be getting bored of the proceedings, because she simply waves her hand at each of us in turn, starting from the nervous boy, then the older boy, then me, then the girl. "Seamus Jonroe, Anton Rosin, Ersline Faverlow, Amisha Grey." 

At least I now know their names. 

An inebriated guard stumbles drunkenly into the room through what looks like a pane of clear glass made out of sugar syrup. "Miss Bradbury-Jones," he slurs, "InCop wants you."

The green-suited woman purses her lips so tightly that they look like they've dried up. "Get out!" she barks. "I'll come. But you need to leave this instant. You're spoiling the new Arnisses' view of us. 

If I was allowed to snicker, I would.

"Ahhh." He teeters around, reeking of alcohol and old socks that had been stuffed in a garbage can and left to decompose. "New batch, huh?" He staggers towards Amisha, and repulsed, and closes her eyes as he breathes in her face. "This one's pretty, isn't she?" He stares at Bradbury-Jones. "Why d'you have to kill her?"

"Because she resisted. Like the others."

Does that include me???

"Hey, resistance ain't no cause for killing," he whines. "Sure we can make exceptions. . ." he said, tilting his face in. . .

It happens simultaneously. 

When his lips are an inch from hers, Amisha suddenly whips her head around. Her hair unravels from its ponytail and slaps him in the face, leaving his eyes stinging, just as Bradbury-Jones loads a pistol and fires.

He collapses, dead.

Amisha catches my eye and grins icily at me. They're so lame, she mouths. Inwardly cringing, I realise that Amisha has proven herself to be a determined survivor. Anton and Seamus, who're both looking away resignedly, are no match. Not yet, at least. And me? I guess I can survive well enough. But I can't hold a candle to her. At all. Because I'm not a warrior the way she is. 

"Right then," Bradbury-Jones says scowling, "I'm going to InCop." She addresses her minions. "You know what to do."

I gulp. Judging on her tone, it can't be anything good.

Finally, Seamus speaks. "What's going to happen to us?" he whispers. 

Bradbury-Jones cocks her head mockingly at him. "You don't want to know."

As if that's the signal, the guards converge on us like a wave, armed to the teeth. No chance of escape. They force a pill down our throats that tastes like rotten blueberries. No one fights back, not even Amisha. Because we none of us want to stay in this crazy white room.

And then everything goes black as the drug hits my system.

(Ahhhhhh chapter 5 is finally out!!!!! :))))) I can't believe how long it took typing this (I'm a major procrastinator lol) remember to comment on what you think and vote if you liked it and want the rest of my original chapter 5! XD Yes I split it, it was too long for one chapter XD)