In a matter of seconds, the overly eager guards set up a perimeter around the large room and began quickly and efficiently rounding up the kids. Bryce tried to keep back out of the rushing crowd, but was instantly caught by the arm and pulled in line by one of the patrols.  The kid's initial instinct was to protest and loudly, to pull away and run the hell out of the building, but the big, bad, ugly men holding the guns were in charge, and he really didn't want to die today. Fear and confusion was their tactic it seemed, and the quicker the soldiers shoved the group along like cattle, the less time anyone had to think about what was going on. 

“Move it ‘long, scrappers!” One of the men yelled in what seemed to be a thick, southern accent. “Ain't got all day!”

Bryce glanced around even while being pushed and shoved by not only the soldiers that remained in lockstep along the sidelines, but the other kids themselves as most were in tears and a general panicked state. The buildings they'd passed outside didn't seem all that remarkable, rather plain in fact, but nothing he'd ever seen before regardless. 
[I]Was this another school?  A detention center? Hell, perhaps?[/i] Bryce couldn't help but smirk at that last thought, wondering if he'd be stuck as a kid for the rest of his life in the fiery pit. Although, as of yet, he hadn't seen any pits.

“Alright creeps, I need groups of ten, now!” The same southern-accented man demanded, as kids were split into separate groups and shoved in different directions. Bryce was first in the line and had a front row seat to just how badly that same soldier smelled once he was mere inches from the boy's nose. 

“Onions.” Bryce mumbled. “Definitely onions.”

“What’d ya say boy?” The tall, sweaty, roughneck put a finger against the other’s forehead. “Say one more word, runt.” He hissed through yellowed teeth and killer breath. “I dare ya.”

The kid stood still the best he could, as the man just pushed against his head and walked away with a smug expression, opening the doorway to one of the cabins just a few yards away. One by one, all ten kids, a few with different color markings on them, and others with handcuffs, we're shoved into the small cabin that smelled like an old basement that hadn't been aired out in decades. 

The soldier pulled the key for the handcuffs from his pocket and tossed them in the center of the room. “Have a pleasant stay, pups.” He said with a wry grin while closing and locking the door securely behind him. 

Aside from the rapid heartbeats, uncontrollably heavy breathing, ambient noise outside of the room, there was silence amongst all of the kids for what could have been an eternity. 

“Anyone for a game of charades?”

Bryce just had to be the smartass...