50 5 3

"Isla Wilson is no more. The fifth member for the program has been selected."

That was the last transmission sent from the decaying, gray room. The flickering screens barely staying alive long enough for the wrinkled long fingers to type out the words, hit send, watch the bar load, hear the light and cheerful womanized voice tell anyone listening that the message was sent. That was the last shred of evidence as to where the five babies had disappeared to; leaving behind blood and tear stained cheeks. There was no one but the owner of those long wrinkled fingers who knew the location of those innocent children. The five people who would grow to be heroes.
Heroes to a dying race.
As the man stood from his chair all together the screens sighed in relief, giving into their much delayed death, leaving the small room in darkness. There was a small shuffling as a body moved towards the sealed door, fumbling with the latch, then blinking furiously as the night became day and the cries of a child could be now be heard.
He stood there taking it all in.
He had succeeded, well, so far.
The child's cries grew in sound and the old man frowned, striding to the cribs and locating the one that had woken.
It was the second, William Theodore. The man watched the small package of limbs and fat squirm, reaching for help, for something, someone to help it, needing safety- comfort.
The man scoffed, his voice came out clear, strong, sure, "you must learn to live without help. You shall be giving it, not receiving it." But even as he delivered the first lesson of many to the unsuspecting boy, he picked him up. The man cradled the boy in his arms, quietly humming a tune only he knew.
As the boy began to calm and fall asleep again, the man laid him down and quietly sang the words to the tune, softly walking away from the crib, away from his new students as he sang the words they would soon all know by heart:

Keeping you close,
Yet holding you back.
Leading the hopeless,
Saving the forgotten.
If one stands in our way,
We shall fight back-
Fight back!
For saving a race is not easy.
Keeping you close,
Yet holding you back,
For none can quite match
The Saviors.
The Saviors.

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