It was dark by the time the boys were startled awake by the truck's doors being slammed open.  The stocky man greeted them with a cruel smirk. "Up an at'm, boys.  Welcome to Sorian." The boy had heard of Sorian.  It was a hole-in the wall town where all manner of nefarious activities took place.  Why they had been brought here, he did not want to think about. Most of the children, including the little blond, managed to feebly climb out of the truck; the ones who were least injured (none of them were uninjured) helped the ones who could not do it alone.  The truck was backed up towards a rundown looking warehouse.  Two men dressed similarly

"Let us out!  Please!" cried one boy. "I don't want to die!" cried another. But the blue-eyed blond creative boy was in to much of a shock to cry out.  He only sat with his head tucked between his knees and his arms wrapped as tightly as possible around himself, trying to ignore the roar of the engine and the way the floor shook as the ship took off, flying them away to whatever fate awaited. "What are they going to do to us?" one boy whimpered? "Do you think they'll feed us to daemons?" came another boys quivering voice. The blond boy covered his ears so not to hear his fellow younglings speculate on how they might be killed.  As a dist

He asked a lot of questions. What does the ocean smell like? Why can't I wear red today instead of boring gray all the time. What's it like to ride a chocobo? He was creative, curious, idealistic, and thoughtful. Not desirable qualities in a Magitek youngling. He was afraid. It was time for the semi annual culling, a time where younglings were tested and evaluated to ensure they were being programmed properly to grow up to be the strong forces of Niflheim; daemon/human hybrids who questioned nothing and believed their soul purpose in life to be killing in the name of the empire. Those who passed evaluation went on for further programming.