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Description
Troy stood at a crossroads, blue tray in hand. Where the hell to sit? He silently scolded himself, of all the questions to ask this seemed the most trivial. But here he was, a decision to be made standing as a stone in a stream, people and voices flowing all around him. It was a little overwhelming, this was his first day at the children's mess hall. Previously he had eaten in the infirmary, recovering from assorted beatings and his skull surgery.

Now he found he was still undecided; daunted by the overpowering sensations of conversation and eating. There where too many smells; warm rolls made the air warm and flaky, thousands of different breaths mingled into a pungent but subtle stench, green beans gave the room a partially bland sweetness. But the meat and gravy was horrible. A brutal, burning, nauseating, choking, thick, stench that made Troy want to vomit every time he inhaled, smeared itself grotesquely in every direction. There was no escaping it. Not that anyone else seemed to notice.

Every able body was busy chattering with his or her neighbor about the vainest of things; Whom was prettier, smarter, more handsome, had the best hair, or never seemed to relinquished in their "personal quest" to "ruin" so-and-so's life. It was a melting pot of careless and often petty banter. Never once did his name come up, or had someone acknowledged his presence. That is except the occasional accident wherein somebody found themselves looking him strait in the eyes from clear across the room. Every such instance resulted in a hurried turn of the head by the stranger, embarrassed that their wondering eyes had been caught.

Each table was bustling with movement, whether it was a chorus of bouncing, laughing heads, or a massive tangle of arms weaving this way and that to reach several desired items. Troy had never seen this many kids in one place ever before. There where tall ones, short ones, fat ones, lean ones, weird ones, kind ones, mean ones, and every other kind of one, could be found here. There where several different languages being spoken as well. He heard English, French, Spanish, German, Russian, one particular group of kids even sounded like they spoke a native African tongue, which he didn't even know the name of. It appeared that every corner of the world was represented in this room. It reminded him of some sci-fi movie he had seen before, where individuals from each culture of the world where sucked up into an alien space ship and the Earth was evaporated. The aliens started the human race anew on a distant planet. It was a terrible movie. Whomever wrote the plot should have been fired. But it begged the question, why are all these kids here? Which begged another question, why am I here?

"I can answer that." Troy nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Jesus Riley don't do that, it's hard enough to withstand the clatter and chatter of the room without being jumped by a cripple." Riley was seated on the far side of a nearby table, which was pretty much deserted, except for another kid, who sat clear on the other side. Apparently he was not too happy to share his table with the talkative know-it-all, not that Troy could blame him.

"That hurts Troy and I thought we were friends."

"The friendliest thing you've done is split my scull open and peak around inside." Well that's not exactly true. I think he made a joke once.

"Huh, you've forgotten already?" Inquired Riley.

"Forgotten what?"

"The question you've been meaning to ask."

"How did you-"

"You just had that look about you."

"Um, what?"

"Well?"

"Oh fine! Why the hell am I here? Happy?"

"You forgot one."

"God, I'll ask, get off my case. How the hell did you know?"

"Tut tut, we need to work on extending your vocabulary. Your verbal habits make conversation exceedingly drab." Troy swung up to Riley in an instant, fist raised, ready to beat the answers out of him. He was clearly not used to any kind of physical threat.

"Okay! Okay! Don't hit me! I was only having a little fun. Well obviously you know that you're... different. But have you ever stopped to think you're not the only one? About 70 years ago there was a severe astronomical event involving the cataclysmic explosion of-"
Great more information I already know. Damn he seems more into this kinda stuff than Red was. Going on and on about the obscure specifics of this and that. Boy he can talk and talk. I wonder if I should let on that I know all this already. No, no there's no reason to tell him about Red. He'd only look at me like I'm crazy. Which at the moment, was exactly what he was doing.

"Hey? Are you even paying attention?"

"Yeah sure, your point?"

"I was saying that you should pay more attention sometimes. So do you want to know or what?"

"Huh?"

"Damn it Troy, I'll tell you anyways. At least then there'll be somethin' rattling around in that empty skull of yours. Your 'power' if you will, is purely neurological. That is to say you don't have extremely powerful smell because of your nose, but rather because of your sensory receptors and your brain. Furthermore, your synapses fire at an amazingly fast rate, about 2.73 times faster than a normal person. This is supposed to improve your mental capacity.

Like yours my specialty is also neurological in nature. However, it works in a different way. Unlike you my memory is impeccable. I remember anything and everything I've ever experienced. For example, the first thing you said to me was 'Ow, what the hell? Where the heck am I?'. Not exactly a sophisticated remark but I guess it got the job done. What? Still not convinced?" Riley pulled his napkin in front of himself whisked a pencil out of his pocket and set to sketching away. It wasn't but a moment before Troy could make out what he was drawing. Before him on the napkin sat a perfect likeness to himself, wrapped in bandages, tucked in a blue medial sheet. The room was impeccable. Every last detail was maintained; down to the spun pill bottles and limp rubber glove.

"Damn dude, that's cool. So what, you remember everything? Like everything?"

Riley shuddered in memory. "Yeah, but trust me it's as much a curse as it is a gift. There's nothing I can un-see. But I'd rather not linger. As I'm well aware, you've already met Chelsea. She's another one of us. Any simple touch and she'll knock you unconscious. I'm surprised she hasn't hit you with it yet, you obviously get on her nerves."

"Not my fault she's stupid."

"No I guess it's not, but go easy on her will you? She's simple but kind. Have you met Brent? No? I didn't think so. You'd remember meeting him. He's Carlson's right hand man and beyond talented with a rifle. I can't say I've seen him miss. Has Carlson told you his special gift yet?"

"Nope, why what's his?"

"Ah curiosity good. Have you done any weapons practice with him yet? Don't worry you will. I think I'll let you find out yourself what he is capable of. It's quite interesting."
It was a lot to absorb but Troy wanted to know more. Are there others here? If so who are they? What can they do? But he never got the chance. A small blond boy approached and yanked lightly on Riley's shirt. He couldn't have been much older than four.

"Misha Riley, Carlson wants to shee you at the entrance beh. He says there'sh a pear of defecdors."

It was still awkward to Troy. Most of the people in V.A.I.S.I.S where kids so they did a majority of the message carrying. But this kid could barely speak. For Riley it was more natural.

"I believe you mean defectors Felix. Come Troy it's time for you to meet what we're up against. Or rather what we were up against." Great thought Troy. I never got to eat.

Description
Troy stood at a crossroads, blue tray in hand. Where the hell to sit? He silently scolded himself, of all the questions to ask this seemed the most trivial. But here he was, a decision to be made standing as a stone in a stream, people and voices flowing all around him. It was a little overwhelming, this was his first day at the children's mess hall. Previously he had eaten in the infirmary, recovering from assorted beatings and his skull surgery.

Now he found he was still undecided; daunted by the overpowering sensations of conversation and eating. There where too many smells; warm rolls made the air warm and flaky, thousands of different breaths mingled into a pungent but subtle stench, green beans gave the room a partially bland sweetness. But the meat and gravy was horrible. A brutal, burning, nauseating, choking, thick, stench that made Troy want to vomit every time he inhaled, smeared itself grotesquely in every direction. There was no escaping it. Not that anyone else seemed to notice.

Every able body was busy chattering with his or her neighbor about the vainest of things; Whom was prettier, smarter, more handsome, had the best hair, or never seemed to relinquished in their "personal quest" to "ruin" so-and-so's life. It was a melting pot of careless and often petty banter. Never once did his name come up, or had someone acknowledged his presence. That is except the occasional accident wherein somebody found themselves looking him strait in the eyes from clear across the room. Every such instance resulted in a hurried turn of the head by the stranger, embarrassed that their wondering eyes had been caught.

Each table was bustling with movement, whether it was a chorus of bouncing, laughing heads, or a massive tangle of arms weaving this way and that to reach several desired items. Troy had never seen this many kids in one place ever before. There where tall ones, short ones, fat ones, lean ones, weird ones, kind ones, mean ones, and every other kind of one, could be found here. There where several different languages being spoken as well. He heard English, French, Spanish, German, Russian, one particular group of kids even sounded like they spoke a native African tongue, which he didn't even know the name of. It appeared that every corner of the world was represented in this room. It reminded him of some sci-fi movie he had seen before, where individuals from each culture of the world where sucked up into an alien space ship and the Earth was evaporated. The aliens started the human race anew on a distant planet. It was a terrible movie. Whomever wrote the plot should have been fired. But it begged the question, why are all these kids here? Which begged another question, why am I here?

"I can answer that." Troy nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Jesus Riley don't do that, it's hard enough to withstand the clatter and chatter of the room without being jumped by a cripple." Riley was seated on the far side of a nearby table, which was pretty much deserted, except for another kid, who sat clear on the other side. Apparently he was not too happy to share his table with the talkative know-it-all, not that Troy could blame him.

"That hurts Troy and I thought we were friends."

"The friendliest thing you've done is split my scull open and peak around inside." Well that's not exactly true. I think he made a joke once.

"Huh, you've forgotten already?" Inquired Riley.

"Forgotten what?"

"The question you've been meaning to ask."

"How did you-"

"You just had that look about you."

"Um, what?"

"Well?"

"Oh fine! Why the hell am I here? Happy?"

"You forgot one."

"God, I'll ask, get off my case. How the hell did you know?"

"Tut tut, we need to work on extending your vocabulary. Your verbal habits make conversation exceedingly drab." Troy swung up to Riley in an instant, fist raised, ready to beat the answers out of him. He was clearly not used to any kind of physical threat.

"Okay! Okay! Don't hit me! I was only having a little fun. Well obviously you know that you're... different. But have you ever stopped to think you're not the only one? About 70 years ago there was a severe astronomical event involving the cataclysmic explosion of-"
Great more information I already know. Damn he seems more into this kinda stuff than Red was. Going on and on about the obscure specifics of this and that. Boy he can talk and talk. I wonder if I should let on that I know all this already. No, no there's no reason to tell him about Red. He'd only look at me like I'm crazy. Which at the moment, was exactly what he was doing.

"Hey? Are you even paying attention?"

"Yeah sure, your point?"

"I was saying that you should pay more attention sometimes. So do you want to know or what?"

"Huh?"

"Damn it Troy, I'll tell you anyways. At least then there'll be somethin' rattling around in that empty skull of yours. Your 'power' if you will, is purely neurological. That is to say you don't have extremely powerful smell because of your nose, but rather because of your sensory receptors and your brain. Furthermore, your synapses fire at an amazingly fast rate, about 2.73 times faster than a normal person. This is supposed to improve your mental capacity.

Like yours my specialty is also neurological in nature. However, it works in a different way. Unlike you my memory is impeccable. I remember anything and everything I've ever experienced. For example, the first thing you said to me was 'Ow, what the hell? Where the heck am I?'. Not exactly a sophisticated remark but I guess it got the job done. What? Still not convinced?" Riley pulled his napkin in front of himself whisked a pencil out of his pocket and set to sketching away. It wasn't but a moment before Troy could make out what he was drawing. Before him on the napkin sat a perfect likeness to himself, wrapped in bandages, tucked in a blue medial sheet. The room was impeccable. Every last detail was maintained; down to the spun pill bottles and limp rubber glove.

"Damn dude, that's cool. So what, you remember everything? Like everything?"

Riley shuddered in memory. "Yeah, but trust me it's as much a curse as it is a gift. There's nothing I can un-see. But I'd rather not linger. As I'm well aware, you've already met Chelsea. She's another one of us. Any simple touch and she'll knock you unconscious. I'm surprised she hasn't hit you with it yet, you obviously get on her nerves."

"Not my fault she's stupid."

"No I guess it's not, but go easy on her will you? She's simple but kind. Have you met Brent? No? I didn't think so. You'd remember meeting him. He's Carlson's right hand man and beyond talented with a rifle. I can't say I've seen him miss. Has Carlson told you his special gift yet?"

"Nope, why what's his?"

"Ah curiosity good. Have you done any weapons practice with him yet? Don't worry you will. I think I'll let you find out yourself what he is capable of. It's quite interesting."
It was a lot to absorb but Troy wanted to know more. Are there others here? If so who are they? What can they do? But he never got the chance. A small blond boy approached and yanked lightly on Riley's shirt. He couldn't have been much older than four.

"Misha Riley, Carlson wants to shee you at the entrance beh. He says there'sh a pear of defecdors."

It was still awkward to Troy. Most of the people in V.A.I.S.I.S where kids so they did a majority of the message carrying. But this kid could barely speak. For Riley it was more natural.

"I believe you mean defectors Felix. Come Troy it's time for you to meet what we're up against. Or rather what we were up against." Great thought Troy. I never got to eat.