After the BlackChapter Three(“That will be Your Balls”) 

“Sarey no! Not the Oxies…”

“Hey!"

Sarey said kneeling down and staring her younger brother dead in the eye. “You aren’t finished with your training. You’re barely into the beginning… I have three years on you; don’t tell me what to do.” Sarey marched off into the distance towards the little craft, until she disappeared into the darkness.  

Baydie watched as the light stopped moving, and the craft lowered onto the ground, with nearly no sound at all. Three men, dressed in grey suits, climbed out, carrying large silver boxes on there backs. They each began to untie the boxes from each others backs, and place them carefully onto the ground. They seemed to be weary, each one of the gas masked men, had a certain jerky movement, the type of movement that the soots were taught, meant someone was very nervous.  

“Hands up! take three steps back!” Sarey screamed appearing suddenly in the hazy light with the three men. She held the small gun, pointed at the man in the middle. Each man did exactly as he was told, and folded there arms carefully behind there heads.  

“There just doing there jobs… come on Sar… come on.” Baydie muttered to him self.  

Each man turned slowly, quivering with fear, of the one, the one they had been warned about. The female Soot with the bright green eyes.  

“Lay down on the ground, face in the dirt. If any of you move, I will blow your head off.” Sarey turned and pointed her gun toward the first box, in the row, of three. She pulled the trigger, and in less then a second the grey box exploded, into thousands of tiny, flashing, shards of metal, flying through the air. She pulled the trigger twice more, and the other two boxes burst, into the same shattered fate.  

“Now which one of you has the Buzzer code?” She asked, sounding disturbingly polite. She stood behind the men, pointing her gun at the back of the middle mans head.  

“Turn around and look at your oxygen collectors,” Sarey requested in a suggestive manner. The man in the middle shakily rose his head up, and looked through Sarey’s legs, at the busted bits of metal and silvery scrap, scatterd about the ground.

“That will be your balls if you don’t speak.”  

“477825!” He cried, covering the back of his head with his hands.  Sarey walked over to the Buzzer, her boots crunching along the rocky ground. There on the side of the vehicle, was a small pad of glowing numbers, ranging from 0-9. 

By: Ashlie Dawn Ryan Weaver