Little Sally walked home after being shooed away from Missy's house. Sally was told that Missy had been murdered and that she was never to come over and visit Missy again. Door shut in face, Sally dripped tears along the drive as she began to walk home down Slaughter Street. She stopped under a yellow glow lamp pole in the twilight, picked a lush brown mushroom, and began to giggle. Children always disappeared around Death Compound, so to realize a disappearance after the fact was rather common place. But, to be told that your best, truest friend in the whole wide giant world had been murdered straight to the face is another thing all and in itself. Sally began to wet tears over her new found brown truffle.
As she continued to walk home the evergreen firs whispered sweet charms in her ears. Suddenly, a dark foreboding shadow struck her soul and her heart sensed bat sonar waves; she tripped and her mushroom fell from her hand and down a storm drain on Damnation Road.
Sally began to cry anew as she realized that she had lost her mushroom trinket. Her mother waited quietly in their living room with a kitchen knife waiting for the little girl to return home. It was customary in Death Compound to dispose of children if their parents did not see it fit for them to live. Sally had been set up. The law is any child that learns of a murder by mouth from an adult is sentenced to death. That child is touched and tainted and chosen by death for having that conversation. And if the Death Administration raised some sort of complaint, the Compound enforcement itself had means of making children disappear. With quiet longing and earnest expectation Sally's mother waited, salivated, became damp and moist.
Sally skipped up her front steps and waved to little Igor across the street in his front window. As the door opened, mother pounced and sunk the knife into Sally's chest as the woman covered the child's mouth severely not allowing a scream to escape. The work was quickly finished and blood trickled and pooled onto the wooden floor, shimmering black in the twilight.
Mother looked up from Sally's corpse and saw Igor in the window across the street in a frozen fright. She calmly, quickly called to her husband to contact the neighbors and have them exterminate Igor and weed out this flagrant patch of defection; he was guilty for the act of being a witness and deeply associated with the aberration that was Sally. He had a death wish written all over him, as was evidently fated by his act of watching through the front window.
The call to the neighbors' was made and Igor's father came up from behind and broke his neck with one swift, precise movement. Sally's mother smiled amidst silent, deep tears and closed her front door.
The good children, of course, live to be adults...
The Resistance Lives...or does it..?
Dread Station was in fact funded by the Death Administration - as was Death Compound proper - and was simply a means of bold experimentation away from the mores and ways and virtues of Death Compound. The children went through a differentiated Dread Station education and upbringing with the threat of death held plainly over their heads, as opposed to leaving them in complete ignorance as in the Death Compound, and it was inflicted just often enough to let it be known that the threat was real.
Morrgid Hames, a Massacre, walked into an instruction room at Dread Station. The children lining the room in desks were those that had been saved from the evil claws of Death Compound. Not that the children here at Dread Station were treated any less harshly or any less was expected of them, it was rather believed that the wrong prototype collection of children were being sentenced and executed at Death Compound and thus Dread Station represented a sanctuary of sorts. The parents of the children at Dread Station simply thought that the Death Administration had disposed of their child within Death Compound and then didn't worry their minds of them any longer. The ritualistic killing of children occurring at Death Compound for the sake of purifying the societal plane had taken long, developmental routes leading to the end; the decay. The killing lines had become dirtied, miscalculated, unsure. The human products trained at Dread Station, salvaged from the grip of the Death Administration and blood thirsty parents, was a means to revitalizing the societal makeup of Death Compound when those who passed the rigorous testing were re-implanted back into the compound.
These children from Dread Station were secretly funneled into the main stream adult population of Death Compound which was itself still subject to another line of exterminations, this time by the decision and hands of the spiritual keepers of the Compound: The Massacres. And of course there are other organizations used to alter the absoluteness of the rituals taking place with The Massacres. But that goes above and beyond the scope of this story about Death Compound.
Zachary Killdove enters the Termination Protocol interogation office at Dread Station and takes a seat in front of a desk occupied by two Massacres. "It is the middle of the murky moon beam rain and death has been held over your head for your entire existence. What do you have to say for yourself such that you shall be permitted to take another breath?"
Zach's face molds itself in a repugnant aire and answers, "I am everything you are not. I want nothing to do with your ilk."
The two Massacres hold their ground and the beaming blank stares of their masks hide all facial expressions. "But that is the very reason why we want you. Do not you see?"
Zach's eyes reach an overloaded pitch of red murder as he quietly mutters, "I refuse..."
"Go from us now. You have had enough time to sift the scenario through your mind. Banished you are to the Desert of Moldar where you shall finally breathe freely and fill your lungs with sand."