THE DAWN OF A NEW ERA

PREPARATIONS

7TH DECEMBER 1099

DASTON COLONY, SEVIRIS DISTRICT.

The resounding blare of an alarm invaded Roland's consciousness, rousing him from sleep. His eyes reflexively opened as he quietly sat up in the immaculate white bed, the grey covers sliding off his form.

The bed, positioned adjacent to a matching one on the opposite side, was part of a lower level in the room furnished with grey decker beds.

Austerity defined the room, its sole inhabitants being the two double-decker beds. Its walls, painted a pristine white, housed embedded LED lights in the ceiling that provided the only source of illumination.

Roland reminisced about a time when the alarm used to irk him upon every awakening. However, over time, it had evolved into an ordinary occurrence.

While the intrusion of the alarm during his initial days had been an adjustment, he now navigated it with practised ease. Adaptation, born from the necessity of survival, had become his strongest trait.

Surrounding him, his bunkmates voiced their complaints, rustling and groaning as they begrudgingly rose from their beds in response to the alarm's relentless noise.

Yet, Roland's demeanour remained unruffled as he calmly stood up and meticulously arranged his bedding. This scene had become a ritual, and he had come to anticipate its repetition.

While he might have expected his companions to acclimate to the clamour, he acknowledged that not everyone could mirror his own adeptness at adjusting. His ability to adapt was a survival tool honed by the harsh reality of life.

With methodical efficiency, he readied his bed and began undressing, neatly placing his folded grey shirt and trousers on the bed, retaining only a white serat.

Moving toward the wall, he stood facing it, closing his eyes. In silence, his roommates joined him after a while, each donning a white serat. The wall then descended, revealing a locker room with four lockers arranged opposite each other.

Silently, they passed through the opening, standing before their designated lockers. Placing their thumbs on specific spots near the locker handles, a beep sounded as the doors opened, revealing an array of gear.

Each item was meticulously put on: black gloves enhanced with itis which was an iron like substance in the post corrosion era, elbow and knee pads rimmed with the same iron-like substance, an enigmatic belt with numerous perforations, black shoes laced with itis, and finally, a sizable iron collar that, when affixed, conformed to their neck sizes, its segmented iron extending down their backs and connecting to the waist belt.

Having completed their preparations, they turned away from their lockers with a solemnity befitting soldiers readying for battle. Their path led them to the room's singular exit, a small white door. Before it, they paused, staring contemplatively.

" Oh please, we have done this before. Countless times, in fact. so stop wearing that expression that Roland has all the time. it's not the end of the world, you know." A young man with short dreadlocks and dark skin spoke, a smile playing on his lips as he stepped forward to open the door.

As his companions exchanged, knowing smiles and light-hearted banter, Roland maintained his impassive demeanour, unfazed by the jests. Soon, they collectively elbowed each other in camaraderie, diffusing the tension.

"Let's embark once more and endure," declared a brown-skinned man with a goatee, his fist clenched.

The retort came from a thin, lanky man with a round face and a feminine voice, "I'm confident in my survival skills, unlike some."

"Enough, Larke," retorted the goateed man, feigning annoyance.

"Am I wrong, Tusif?" quipped Larke, a chuckle in his voice.

" Of course not oh high and mighty Larke," the young man with short dread locks interrupted in a fake feminine voice

" Be quiet, Dudid, or I will make you," Larke said, trying to look fierce but failing terrible

The exchanges continued, culminating in laughter as they revelled in the camaraderie. Amidst it all, Roland's gaze remained fixed on the door, his expression unchanged.

"Let's depart, or lateness awaits us," Roland finally interjected.

Larke jested, "Buzz killer."

"Dudid, open the door," Tusuf directed, once the laughter subsided.

The door swung open under Dudid's hand, granting them passage to a well-lit interior balcony overlooking a vast expanse in a large building dominated by colossal humanoid robotic structures and cubicles. White-clad personnels and black-clad securities and various robots bustled around the area.

Advancing to the balcony's edge, they stepped forward as if about to fall down, but their feet encountered a sizable circular platform that floated in the air and transported them downward. Upon disembarking, they were met by individuals dressed in white scrubs, led by a stern mature woman with a shaply body that obviously stemmed from intense workout session.

"Where have you been? The rift opens in 15 minutes," she reprimanded without affording them a chance to respond. Her entourage followed as they trailed after her, helpless expressions exchanged amongst them—except for Roland, who retained his stoic demeanour.

Passing by, the various personnels on the way paused their works and greeted her with admiration, which she disregarded as they continued toward their destination.

Arriving at a quartet of towering humanoid robots surrounded by personnel as they noted some final adjustments being made to the constructs. The mature woman inquired, "Are they ready?"

She was met with an affirmative response from a portly man who distanced himself from the other personnel's and bowed his head low in front of her, not daring to look at her face.

Circular constructs then appeared before each of the humaniod robot as the personnel surrounding it dispersed and distanced themselves while Roland, Larke Dudid, and Tusif approached the Robot with shared encouragement evident in their glances.