Chapter 2 - The Academy and Daniel Stone

Larger and darker than any building known to the civilised world, the base of The Academy resembled a gargantuan hunk of rotten coal. It grew up and out for miles, twisting and fracturing on its way until crooked claws of blackest rock ripped through the night sky. At points in its distorted bulk there were huge veins of rock, clasped in unusual shapes, hanging out in chunks and then clinging in again as if seeking comfort from the jagged splits and gashes of its tarred mass. The irregularities and curves of its many bulges and tentacles added to the sinister and imposing presence of The Academy but did not create it. There was something deeper, something wrong about the place at its core. Something alive that would terrify the world, if the world had been alive to look at it.
This was the heart of the wasteland though, and no-one lived here - unless they were members of The Academy. And members of The Academy never went outside its doors on pain of death. Students would see it once, on their first arrival. This was a time that The Academy enjoyed. During these encounters, it would get the measure of the boy entering its walls and determine in advance either the man, or the corpse that he would become.
At ground level there was a huge stone doorway. Above that was a colossal figure scraped into the rock on the front of the building, several metres high. The figure was a man and he was climbing. Downwards. Two arms reached towards the door of the Academy and two legs clicked out behind the figure at right angles. The mask of his face was a crazed distortion, with huge hollow eyes and a tongue that flowed backwards and forward on itself. Months, even years of work had produced this giant monstrosity and no-one in The Academy or the surrounding world had any idea why.
An automatic bug drifted into being in the distance, burning its way through the smog and the grit. Nothing unusual in that. As it gradually got closer, The Academy was able to focus on what was unusual; the stains and ragged bullet holes across the vehicle and the smell of leaked oil. The bug had clearly been through a lot to get here. As it slowed up in front of the building, The Academy leaned forward with interest.
The bug opened, in the way that bugs always did, and as the reinforced plastic roofing gasped, a hiss of steam echoed across the landscape. A lean and battered boy fell from the bug's lid and scrabbled to his feet. Smoke rose gently from his shoulders and a small amount of blood trickled from his right hand. The thin figure reached out and held the bug for several minutes, his hand slipping occasionally in the blood that was gradually spreading across its surface. Then, with some effort he straightened up, glancing and suspicious, till he was stood firmly, glaring at The Academy.
The Academy waited.
The boy, like thousands of boys before him, approached. Stood and looked. Unlike other boys he did not shake or cower. He didn't cry or wail at what he saw in front of him. He just stared up, eyes tight, looking at the carved figure above the Academy's doorway. He looked feeble and underfed. The Academy was interested in something else though. The boy's hair.
It had been years since The Academy had seen anything like his hair before. It was a ragged mess of curls, flicks and spikes. But it was black. Blacker than the earth. Blacker than the night sky. Blacker even than the Academy.
Under the storm of crisp blackest hair, the boy's eyes looked out, tight, suspicious and red raw. Below this mesh of features was a tattered shirt, singed and stanched with blood. On the left breast it read – child 351 – Daniel Stone.
The boy called Daniel Stone stepped under the looming presence of The Academy. As he walked forwards, the door opened slowly, allowing him to step inside.