It was really weird, the sound of the heels their boots made as they slapped against the pavement on the street. It was almost like hearing a marching band at Christmas, only without the music or lines of squealing, cold children on the sides of the road. At first I didn’t know what it was, that cracking sound that came from around the corner of the building in front of which I was huddled. Before I heard the noise, things were as usual. I was awaiting the always-late city bus so it could take me to school (I was a sophomore in high school, and trust me, I acted it.) I had been kicking my green and black checkered Chucks through a clump of gray, half-melted snow that had gathering on the sidewalk as I dragged on a cigarette clutched between black-Sharpie-painted fingers. I was so punk rock it hurt, and while the bands sucked and the clothes were outrageous, I wanted so desperately to fit in that I would do anything, even if that meant listening to Good Charlotte. Anyway, the bus was over a half hour late, it was the coldest it had been all year, and I was bored out of my mind and on my last cigarette. So this noise, the weird cracking noise that moved down the street with steady precision, fascinated me. I peered around the corner of the building, my bright orange-ish blonde hair falling into my face, and watched with amazement as a group of soldiers moved down the street, a huge tank positioned right in the middle of the rows and rows of uniformed, emotionless men.

“What the…” I breathed, my breath puffing out like smoke. Hanging out of the top of the tank was a tall, thin man with black hair and black eyes. He stared forward, his gaze empty, as the tank rolled on. I wasn’t really sure what to do. I mean, I wasn’t doing anything wrong besides under-aged smoking. (Speaking of that, I dropped the cig the instant I saw those guys. It was habit, when authority figures were around, to dispose of the evidence.) I watched them, squinting to see past my breath and shivering without even noticing, and completely stopped thinking. What was there to think? For a few moments a thousand thoughts ran through my mind at once, like a terrorist attack had happened or some sort of plague had swept through the city, but they all fell away as soon as they came, and I was left entirely struck dumb. How often do you see a huge group of big guys with big guns, click-clacking their way toward you? None too often, that’s for sure. (Well, disregarding any normal military parades through D.C. and, besides, those guys didn’t look nearly as gruff and, well, grouchy as these guys. There was something really different about these military guys, and I knew it wasn’t some sort of peaceful demonstration.) As they got closer, I noticed their uniforms were different from normal US troops. There was a symbol of a normal looking guy shooting a bird out of the air on every hat, every armband. It was everywhere. I squinted at it, and realized without understanding why that the bird was an eagle.

“Sir!” shouted one of the men, his finger pointed in my direction, and I leapt with surprise, and also a good deal of fear. The man in the tank snapped out of his thoughts and stared at me.

“Grab her,” he said, barely loud enough for me to make out. For a second I was frozen, completely paralyzed. What the heck did I do, to be grabbed by these guys? Instinct told me to run, but I stood still. They were in uniforms, weren’t they? They had to be some sort of weird government agency. Maybe the city was contaminated or something?

Two of the guys from the front of the group walked towards me, their boots clicking in unison.

“What is your name?” said one of them, slightly shorter than the other. His icy blue eyes were fixed on my own, and I shrank just slightly.

“M-Meganne Delano,” I answered shakily, swallowing a lump that had appeared in my throat.

The men glanced at each other briefly, and the shorter one spoke again. “What is your age?”

“Fifteen.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the taller one rubbing his finger against the trigger of his gun, both deep in thought. Finally the short one asked: “What combat training have you had?”

“Combat training?” I stared at them, and they stared back in silence. “I’ve played paintball a couple times. And I got in a fight in 7th grade. But training…I’ve never had any.”

“Did you win or lose the fight?” the tall one said slowly, his voice deep and very Southern.

Even in this most dire situation, I couldn’t help but brag. “I creamed her,” I replied with a little smile that faded almost instantly.

“Excellent,” said the short man, and I felt nervous. “Join us or die.”

I must’ve looked really dumb just then. My jaw fell, my eyes widened, and I made a weird little noise like, “Uhhhuhuuuhuuuhuh.” The men continued staring as if they hadn’t just threatened my life, and I shrugged a little and swallowed hard. “O-Okay,” I replied at last, speaking slowly. They took a step towards me and the short man fished something white out of his pocket.

An armband. “Now you will take an oath. If you refuse this oath, I will shoot you on the spot. If you ever break this oath, you will be hanged. Do you understand, Delano?”

I closed my eyes for a second, nausea hitting my stomach like a tidal wave. When I opened my eyes, the short man had his gun poised, finger on the trigger, aimed for my forehead. The tall man followed his lead, and I whispered, “I’ll take the oath,” before I even knew what I was swearing to.

They lowered their guns, and the tall man drawled, “Delano, from this moment on you are a soldier in the Army of Utopia and you will fight for the freedoms and new government of America. Do you solemnly swear your allegiance to this army and swear to give your life, if necessary, to support our cause?”

My eyes went even wider. New government of America? Army of Utopia? Oh God, I thought as my breath grew heavier, the government’s been overthrown! Still, what could I do? If I didn’t take this oath, they’d kill me. So, after a good bit of deliberation, I finally muttered, “I swear it.”

The two nodded their approval, and the short one added, “Your life lays on that oath, soldier. If someone of higher standing than you tells you to shoot a bullet into your own mother’s face, you must comply or you will be killed. Do you understand?”

I gulped and nodded, a tear meandering down my face. I looked down at the armband, at the man shooting the eagle, and felt overcome with the need to vomit, which I promptly did into the gutter. I wiped my mouth and looked up at the two men’s cold eyes, and for the first time in my life felt completely helpless.

The men, who had introduced themselves as Overlord Elroy (the tall one) and Overlord Henderson (the short one) had told me to put on the armband and follow them. I complied of course, seeing no other options, and they led me to the back of the huge procession, where people in normal clothes that I hadn’t noticed before all kind of huddled together, looking shell-shocked. There were a couple kids from my school, jocks that I didn’t talk to, but no one else I even recognized. I wondered why the group was so small, being only about thirty people, and if they recruited everyone they saw on the streets. With a pang in my stomach, I wondered if anyone had refused to take the oath. One look at a few people, whose clothes were splattered with droplets of red and cheeks were flushed and tear-stained, and I knew.

Henderson nodded to the group and said quietly, “These are our other new recruits. I suggest acquainting yourself, because you’ll be with these people for a long time.” I looked around again, seeing no one like myself. Would I buddy up to the jocks? I doubted it. Finally Henderson and Elroy nodded a good-bye, reminded me what a breach of oath meant (and that included trying to run away), and clicked back to their place in the front. After what felt like a lifetime of stillness, the procession started up again, and the new recruits shuffled behind them, prompted by a few soldiers with very dangerous looking guns.