Note: From my jumpdrive, a couple years old. A short sci-fi prose attempt. Just write with some calming cosmic ambient music or Shadow of Colossus (Walder).

Death Hall Battle

"If you truly believe in God, I'd ask for some comforting dreams." A bellowing taunt from the depths of the hallway awakened a man.

In so much shock, it didn't seem real to have his ankle and heel, pooled red, facing back at him. Alden, a fellow from the slums, was given a tempting offer. He did not know that offer would make him one out of hundreds of lambs standing in line to fight for freedom outside the urban walls. He was told that if he made it through the avenues imprisoned within the City Hall fortress, he could go outside and join the Nomads. On arrival, he was given a few instructions, threw on a padded leather jacket, opened a door and started running.

And then, Alden was flat on his rear. A ray of light streamed through his arm, and the heat of it left him without words. From his peripheral, he saw smoke curling from his arm, scorched black. What happened, he thought and not much else; he should've known that leaving the poverty class was too good to be true. In his head, he told himself to move, and only lifted his head, seeing a giant bipedal structure covered in metal panels towering over him.

"Alden Gray?" The mechanical giant spoke. Fitted in the middle of this walking construction was a red beacon light, swiveling on a rotor. The light shined on Alden and the machine continued in its monotone cadence.

"Age 19, gender: Male, Hometown: New Jersey, marriage status: Widower, Job: administrative assistant, job status: laid off— "

"Shut up!" Alden gritted his teeth, squeezed his hands together and rose up on his legs. "Ow, shit!" He cradled the moment he felt a stabbing feeling go up his bad leg, having pressed on the fracture in his ankle. "Get out of my way! I'm leaving. There ain't shit for me here."

"Negative." The response to a human not complying was nothing beyond lack of empathy. Alden felt he was at the bottom of the barrel. Lack of employment and no family, and seeing human flesh being wiped away in a form of entertainment, it was easy to give in to hopelessness. He often wondered how he was born in this state, how things turned into the way it did in the year 2760 A.D: The pro-mechanization movement, New York City and the east side of the United States transformed, and the common people facing a lost of expectation in this change, which was meant to serve national society successfully. Now, there was the risk of reducing overpopulation, and the evaluation of who was needed and why.

Alden was not concerned in being "needed"; he wanted to plain live. Outside of the cities was the farmlands and the communities inclined to natural energy, protected by a creed that they were not to be heckled by any form of Neo-American law. His voice shook with distress and fear as he looked up at the machine.

"Hey, why not leave anyway? You don't want me anyway cause you're better than me, right?"

"Want? Only the work and trade class is wanted."

"Tell the governor to stop these killing games!"

"It is impossible."

"Why?!"

"An order was issued. As of this week, you'll be fatality number four-hundred-and-eighty-six."