<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/474x/88/03/cd/8803cda331af378ebc752e5678f815e2--nick-bateman-black-opal.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong> Hal Jordan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=294841.msg14459790#msg14459790)<br/><strong>Date | Time:</strong> Unknown, definitely Day<br/><strong>Location:</strong> The White Room<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> John and Raven<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong> Navy-blue hoodie, white grease-spotted shirt, brown khaki jean pants, and socks<br/><strong>Note:</strong> Definitely wasn't ready for this one.</span><br/><hr/><br/>A hole was sliced open. The puncture in space was so flat that if it wasn’t for the hiss of changing air pressure, then it wouldn’t have been noticed. A few feet above the floor, a body suddenly tumbled through to land with a thud upon the floor of the White Room. The hole closed above the form of a young man. A dark-blue cotton hood was over his head and eyes, revealing his mouth and neck. His teeth were slightly clenched in agony—most likely from the fall. He wore a random white T-shirt stained with spots of oil from fast food, brown khaki-like jeans, and white socks. The young man’s body was strong with the smell of alcohol. His teeth parted as a soft groan left him. Sluggishly, he began rolling onto his side, raising his arm to hide his face from the horribly-bright light.<br/><br/>“Ugh, fuck,” he groaned. He had only dropped a short distance, which felt like he had fallen out of bed. Curling his legs beneath him, he rested there for a moment. Head down against the floor with his arms hiding his face and his bottom rested on the back of his calves. His absence of a belt was noticeable with his jeans dipping a little low, revealing a partial ass crack.<br/><br/>For a moment, even despite the pain, the young man dozed off. He fell back asleep. Lips parted as he slept soundly until a soft, gradually rising in volume whining sound emitted from his rear in what was repugnantly a fart. Bronze eyes cracked open to gaze upon the white smooth floor. He had a dream that he had farted, but he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like there was anyone else around. Wait…his eyes opened a little wider. A white floor? Turning his palms flat on the floor, the young man peeked up at the bright ceiling, squinting his eyes as his stark surroundings burned his retinas. He recoiled again from the light.<br/><br/>Where the fuck was he? What the fuck was going on? “Shit…” he hissed. He wasn’t sure his eyes were ever going to get used to the bright space. Forcing himself to sit upright, he tugged his hood low over his eyes and caught the rank whiff of…yep, that hadn’t been a dream. Fanning the smell—you know, to spread it because everyone had to sample it—he raised his head in an arch and gazed about the room. His hand paused when he noticed that there were others around him. He first glanced to the black-wearing girl (Raven), and then the black-wearing guy (John/Bruce). Fuck, had they heard him fart? How embarrassing.<br/><br/>His cheeks flushed for a moment, but then he pushed the emotion aside. Whatever. He was a man, and he made a mistake. “My bad,” was all the young man, Hal Jordan, said. It didn’t sound too apologetic but what was done was done. He slowly rose to his feet, one foot at a time, and still managed to stagger a little once he was standing. He turned about the room, taking in his surroundings in confusion, fear, and awe. “What the fuck…some government holding cell?” he wondered aloud. Well, he had been in the process of joining the Air Force. Blinking his eyes, Hal asked the others, “Is this MEPS? Are you guys joining the Air Force too?”