The Ancient 1.2

“Hello?!” Edward calls into the darkness. His voice echoes through his chamber, rattling his eardrums and causing him to cringe. The voice outside grows further and further away until it’s replaced by silence. For a moment it feels as though they really are going to abandon him and the anxiety of it begins to swell inside his chest. He breaths in slow, and deeply, trying to fend off the panic he feels, but he knows it will overtake him soon.
A loud hiss fills Edward’s ears and he feels them pop, painfully, as the air pressure in the chamber suddenly drops. Air rushes out through the halo of light that now rings the metallic wall in front of him. The wall tilts away from him and lifts outwardly into the sky. Edward collapses immediately, tumbling forward, out of his chamber, as the wall was the only thing supporting him. He finds himself on the metal floor, flat on his chest as his arm seems as weak as his legs and incapable of supporting him.
A large dark blob moves into his line of sight. His eyes find it difficult to focus, but Edward is fairly certain the blob is a boot; the very large boot of someone standing over him.
“Oh, man,” Edward says, his voice is hoarse from a dry throat. He struggles to get himself up to his knees, pressing against the floor with all the strength he can muster, and succeeds. “How long has it been?” His palm finds its way to his face, rubbing eagerly at one eye, then the other, trying to clear away what is likely a few dozen years of sleep from them. He hears a chuckle from the person towering over him. Edward tilts his head back to look at the person, but his vision is still too blurry to make out any details of them, and he seems to have a bit of double vision as well as the man appears to have four arms.
Edward makes an attempt to stand, feeling his legs might have enough strength in them now, but the person beside him grabs him by the collar of his shirt and jerks him sideways. He loses his footing immediately, dropping to a knee, and finds himself being dragged across the floor.
“Hey!” Edward protests. When it seems evident that he is being ignored, he protests louder. He struggles to gain footing but to no avail. He’s too weak to resist the actions of the other and fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to walk on his own in his condition. He hears the protests of others down the hall; other survivors, presumably receiving similar treatment as they’re woken.
Edward finds himself drug down a long hall, around several corners, and suddenly, unceremoniously, deposited into a small room. The person moving him seems to effortlessly toss him inside like a small rag doll. He almost gets his feet under him, stumbles into another person and collapses back upon the floor. He manages to get himself to his knees and get one foot on the floor, but his best efforts can’t get his leg to lift him back to his feet.
“Just stay put,” a female voice says from somewhere inside the room. “They’re waking everyone.”
“Yeah,” the silhouetted figure in the doorway agrees. “Just stay put, number 5. We’ll take care of y’all soon.” The door closes, shutting out most of the light from the room.

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