The Overseers
You scream for help, and pull away from the man's grasp. The soldier instantly readies his weapon, and you point at the man with the gun. The soldier yells, "Don't move!" but the man fires the gun. The bullet barely misses you, and the soldier fires two shots to the head, and the man falls to the ground dead. You gasp in shock and almost collapse to your knees, but the soldier approaches you and lays a hand on your shoulder.
"Are you feeling alright, worker?" he asks.
"Just...a little dizzy," you answer, and try to maintain balance.
"You may continue on your way," the soldier replies, and walks back to his post, waiting for other personnel to remove the body. As you walk away, you get a small glimpse of something on the soldier's exposed neck. A tattoo of some sort, a shape. It's a hexagon. You're not sure what it means, but you continue walking down to the bus stop like the whole situation never even happened.
On the bus ride to the factory, the incident grows ever more strange in your mind. Why would someone approach specifically you, telling you to come with them? Gangs were commonplace in the cities, everyone knew that. But this was different. The man was more collected, reserved. You can't place why he was this way, but it was his body language, the way he stared you down. Gangs were vicious and unpredictable, chaotic. This was different. And you vaguely recall seeing for only a moment a similar hexagon shape on the man's neck as well.
You still have a full work day ahead of you, so you push the thoughts out of your mind and wait for the bus ride to end.
"Are you feeling alright, worker?" he asks.
"Just...a little dizzy," you answer, and try to maintain balance.
"You may continue on your way," the soldier replies, and walks back to his post, waiting for other personnel to remove the body. As you walk away, you get a small glimpse of something on the soldier's exposed neck. A tattoo of some sort, a shape. It's a hexagon. You're not sure what it means, but you continue walking down to the bus stop like the whole situation never even happened.
On the bus ride to the factory, the incident grows ever more strange in your mind. Why would someone approach specifically you, telling you to come with them? Gangs were commonplace in the cities, everyone knew that. But this was different. The man was more collected, reserved. You can't place why he was this way, but it was his body language, the way he stared you down. Gangs were vicious and unpredictable, chaotic. This was different. And you vaguely recall seeing for only a moment a similar hexagon shape on the man's neck as well.
You still have a full work day ahead of you, so you push the thoughts out of your mind and wait for the bus ride to end.