Alpha Kael

We call him our God.

Because we have no other choice. Who else could he be to us? Our leader. Our Alpha. None are comparable to such a strong word. Kael is a strong person. That I know of. I've never been particularly fond of him. Perhaps I've never met him, but his regime fits soundly to who he is. I haven't attended boarding school for eighteen years to come to any other conclusion. It's intriguing to see how adeptly he paves our lives for us, without knowing of our existence. That's a level of power many would strive for. It's that irritable word that gets me every time. Compulsory.

I think it's his favorite. It's compulsory to be removed from your family callously to attend boarding school until you're eighteen. It's compulsory to attend further schooling for five years to get a high end job. Be a lawyer, or a doctor. Something boring like that. Unless of course, you're a misfit. A delinquent. An outsider. Then you're shipped off to manually train to be nothing more than a security guard at one of Kael's many prison facilities. It's a shame this Pack, the Discipline Pack, follows its namesake so directly. Assuming my rate of success, I'll be nothing more than just that. A security guard.

The inevitability of it all has gone to my head. I've given up pretending to care at school. Not that I was very good at that to begin with. With all these tests to determine our suitability for these prestigious schools I'll never make it into, my patience has worn thin. And so has the mistresses at my boarding school who are paid to keep me in line.

"Jada Michaels!" A shrill call echos from behind me. "Stop this instant."

My shoes, worn down from similar situations as this, slide me around the linoleum dangerously. My family never sent me much money over my years at boarding school, so the size sevens from three years ago have had to do.

"I'm sorry Mistress Cunningham, you know that's not an option," I call over my shoulder. My hands push off the corridor walls, disrupting notice boards parading pictures and achievements of the top students. I never truly run that fast. That's the game. I like the chase, and when they catch me, there's nothing on the other end I'm scared of. Aside from the overgrown mustache above the mistresses lip.

The corridors around my school are never ending. I could lead Mistress Cunningham all over the place. Get her heart rate jumping, her cheeks swollen with color. She can't run that fast. Not with the weight she's packing above her hips, and the cloth that keeps it in place.

"This is the last straw, Michaels," she calls out, voice breathless and irritated. It only makes me smile. I'm the only one in this school who does this. It explains why I don't have many friends. Mistress Cunningham blames it on my age. I'm a year older than the other girls here. My mother and father hid me from authority for a year until I was found. They had no other choice but to school me with those younger than me. My shoes squeak in protest underneath me as I prance and twirl around the halls. The midday sun beams proudly upon me, congratulating me on my delinquency.

That's how I like to see it, anyway. I can't let myself disappear from Mistress Cunningham's view. Otherwise, she'll call a fitter Mistress and this will be no fun. She's been trying to remove me from her class for years. Too bad every request she makes to the Head of Halls is denied. No one else will have me. It's not my intention to be like this. Routine has never fit me so well. Discipline is a rule I struggle to understand. I don't belong here. I'm going to be Packless soon enough, according to Mistress Cunningham. And that is fine by me. Until then,

I'll use this time to have the only fun available to me in this place. Lost in thought, I didn't hear the short, stoutly woman approach from behind me. She grasps my forearm tightly, squeezing until my skin burns and I yelp in protest.

"Okay, I deserve this," I mutter, tagging along behind her with minimal resistance. She caught me. Well done on her. "But can we skip the lecture today? Apparently there's a treat after lunch. I'm hoping it's those sweet maple cakes-"

"Don't pretend like you deserve any of that," she snaps, lugging me into her office. She slams the door behind us, so all the paper on her desk quivers. I take a seat where I usually do. Right in front of her desk so she can stare me down with her steely gray eyes surrounded by decaying eyelashes. She repulses me. Not necessarily her looks, however, I do take full responsibility for the gray in her hair. It's in fact, because she's the only known Mistress to lay their hands on any of the boarders. I can understand why she does it to me, but not the younger ones. It's an action the higher-up's will hear about. That is, if I can just get to them.

"I'm sick of this," she mumbles under her breath, hobbling on her crook knee, falling in her seat. "I'm going to be so glad seeing you graduate tomorrow."

"Me too," I say brightly. "Might kiss this office goodbye if I'm honest. I'll surely miss the smell of aged lavender and mothballs."

It's my pointed gaze against her infuriated glare. "Do you have a boyfriend, Jada?"

She suddenly asks, her tone easing off, her back arching into her chair. My eyes only narrow in response, as I seek her motive.

"We aren't allowed to encounter men until after our schooling," I tell her warily. Her and I both know girls here send letters to the boys boarding house, catching their romantic interest. I've never been involved in that scene, finding it too depressing. Her smile is thin lipped and smug.

"Aren't you such a pretty girl. We are all envious of those green eyes of yours."

I'm unsure of where she's going with this, but it's not in my favor.

"I have seen, you know, one of those before," I say, knowing I don't need to spell it out. That changed her expression. Her thick eyebrows raise and her jaw falls slack. "I stole into one of the teachers rooms and used her unbarred internet to search it up. Thought I should be prepared since none of the Mistresses here know anything about that."

My attitude is tireless, I imagine. In fact, I'm not very easy to like. But I'll give it to myself that not many can stick up to this woman. Especially not when she brings out her favourite glossy wooden stick, slightly dented from all the beatings she has inflicted onto her terrified students.

"There's no use," Cunningham suddenly snaps. "You'll never find love. You have none now, and you never will."

The smile hardly falters upon my lips, but it hits me straight in the chest. My family haven't sent me any letters in two years. I have an impossibly hard time making friends. And my romantic life is non existent. Love is something I haven't been so familiar with in the past, and even now. She knows the situation with my family, and she knows I'm often lonely...It's the perfect place to strike.

"You better hope someone wants you to work for them after graduation," she tells me firmly. I swallow uncomfortably. Because I'm unsure anyone will.

~Jada

I anticipated graduation until this point. Now I want nothing to do with it.

On the other side of the thick stage curtain, mumbling and chatter ensues between our potential scouters and family who came to watch the ceremony. On this side, girls prance around, dusting makeup onto each other's face, smoothing their dresses and pinning their hair into ridiculous patterns on their head. Their hopes are high. Beyond this curtain, university liaison officers await, and scouters keep their eye out for the best potential student. They rehearse their speeches, full of their achievements and future aspirations. I haven't planned anything.

Here I sit, slouched in my seat, still dressed in my uniform, rather than the formal wear the rest of the girl's sport. Mistress Cunningham has us all line up by alphabetical order. I'm right in the middle, between an aspiring lawyer and business major. According to this set up, the guests on the other side will be getting a very authentic, simple half time show. I hate this.

Mistress Cunningham trots alone the line, kicking the feet of girls who are in the wrong position, straightening jackets and pulling hair over girl's shoulders. She doesn't touch me. She doesn't even look at me. She knows I stand no chance beyond this curtain. Each of these girl's mistresses will be approached later on, offered a place in numerous universities.

"Remember girl's," Mistress Cunningham says from the side of stage, the unflattering amount of blush she applied this morning glowing merrily, "smile!"

The curtains are suddenly lugged open, revealing a crowd of awaiting people. Immediately I can discern the scouters from the parents. Some families wave at the girls on stage, gushing and whispering to each other. Scouters stand, clipboards in hand, jotting down their initial impressions. This is like an auction. Of human lives.

Mistress Cunningham saunters on stage, microphone in hand. She stands almost directly in front of me in a rather petty maneuver. I'm sure she has such a glorious smile on her face as she addresses the turnout. Her career relies on the girls upon this stage. The higher tier schools they are introduced to, the better she looks.

"Good morning and welcome everyone," she says, voice puffed from her entrance to the stage. She should spend more time working out then harassing her students. "As you can see, we have some lovely woman upon this stage who are all looking for a place within your university."

I glare at her back.

"If you look in your program, you can see who each girl belongs to. If you are interested, please speak to their Mistress after each have spoken," she continues, motioning across the stage. At least her large body shields me from the spotlight, which is already making me start to sweat atop my brow. Cunningham says some more words, attempting to come off charming and desirable before she hobbles off stage. The bad taste in my mouth only increases as the glimmering halo from the spotlight flickers to the first girl. She doesn't freeze – she's been preparing.

She confidently steps forward. "My name is Brenna Aaliyah, and I'm aspiring to receive a place in a prestigious law school. I'm worthy, because this year, I have achieved...."

It doesn't take me long to zone out. Perhaps I'm jealous, but seeing this makes me uncomfortable. I've known Brenna for a long time, and have no doubt she will succeed with that winning smile, brilliant confidence and overwhelming good looks that could get her a place despite her grades. The spotlight moves down the line, increasing the dampness on my palms. A few girls stutter under the pressure. One even leaves in a fit of tears, crumpling with the weight of her failure. It's not pleasant for the rest of us to see, and I can feel the girls next to me – once proud and confident – tense anxiously. By the time it reached me, I knew exactly what to say.

"Hello everyone, my name is Jada Michaels, although that probably means nothing to any of you, since I highly doubt you will be picking me for anything," I exclaim, taking a confident step forward from my place. There's a stunned silence. "Now, as for my aspirations, I would say my biggest is to get as far away from this place. That's all."

The silence stretches awkwardly. No one moves. No one scribbles with interest onto their clipboards. No family member leans over to whisper proudly to the other. They all just stare, unsure of how to act. I'm proud of that. I made my point, and now I'll be one of the few left, lingering around waiting to be collected by a prison representative. The other girl beside me gapes at me, as the spotlight shifts to her. She swallows uncomfortably, before she nervously starts her speech. At least she can't do worse than me.

When the ceremony closed off, some girls went to meet with their families, others to pack their things, and some waited with their mistresses for news. Not wanting to hear the overbearing excitement of girls finding out their dream school had accepted them, I trudge up to my room, to pack. However, Mistress Cunningham cuts me off before I have the chance.

"My office," she snaps, "now."

Great. If I wasn't so exhausted after that who debacle, I would have protested. I already know my fate, and a lecture for my behavior on stage is not something I'm excited for. If someone could make my day much worse, it's Mistress Cunningham. She leads me to her office, which is unsurprisingly empty. She closes the door quickly behind me. She's stressed, I can tell. Someone must have mentioned how uncomfortable my performance made them. And now she is left with an embarrassing liability on her hands. Maybe even the prisons won't want me to work for them. It won't be long until I'm a cellmate like the rest of them.

"Look, would a sorry suffice?" I ask the pacing Mistress, as I take my usual seat. She pauses, staring at me as if I just spoke badly against our perfect Alpha. "Honestly, you should have seen it coming."

She blinks a few times, then shakes her head. "That isn't my problem." I'm surprised. Then why does she look so ruffled? Perhaps she found out that the prisons won't take me and she has to keep me for another year. There is a petrified expression on her face speaks volumes as she recalls the past several years of torment.

"Then what is?" She takes a seat at her desk, before she buries her hands in her hair. I'm wary, unsure of why she is acting that way. She should be out there, smiling and greeting scouters, listening to them offer a space to some of the girls in her sect. Instead she sits her, staring at me like I'm a foreign alien.

"I was approached by someone who is interested in you. They are willing to give you an extremely rare opportunity," she tells me, as if she can't believe her words herself. "They are in relation to our Alpha, Jada. Do you understand that?"

I stare at her blankly, not saying a word. If she pranking me?

"They called and someone from higher up is coming here to speak to you," she tells me. She on her feet again, shuffling over to me. My mouth is agape while I try process the information.

"I don't get it," I breathe. "Why me?"

Mistress Cunningham attempts to straighten my uniform, brushing at my hair. I dismiss her, reeling back. This is overwhelming news, and I don't need her trying to make me prettier for some stranger. I was so convinced I was going to be a prison wardens slave, so to hear this is...I barely know what to do with myself.

"Flutter your eyelashes, they are nice and long. Your eyes will have to be your selling point," Cunningham tells me.

"I don't think I can do this," I tell her. Part of me is so sick with nerves I could throw up. The other half of me is curious, and wants to stay to figure out why they took interest in me. Cunningham looks alarmed at my words. She grabs my hands, the gentlest touch I have received in a long time.

"Listen, Jada. I don't understand why they are interested in you. I won't lie to you. But this is the first time anyone in Alpha Kael's management has ever taken interest in one of my students. You need to do this."

"What do they want with me?" I ask. I'm attempting to ignore the fact that she is using me for her own gain.

"I'm not sure," she says, steely eyes clouding over with confusion. "But it must be great if our Alpha is involved with it. Tell me you'll take the opportunity." Before I can say anything, there is a knock on her office door. We exchange glances, before Cunningham stands, moving to open the door.

I turn to look over my shoulder, as a very prompt woman walks in the door. And I know for sure, the future I planned for myself may not what Fate had in mind.

~Jada

I'm not an easily intimidated girl. Never have been. But no one has induce a cold chill across the surface of my skin like the woman in front of me. Her eyes are a steely, intense hazel. Usually hazel is a warm, inviting colour.

Not in this case. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face, revealing the sharp facial structure created by her jaw and her cheekbones. I don't know what hole she crawled out of, but it's clearly a very immaculate one.

"Is your name Jada Luccana Michaels?" she asks coolly. Her accent is Discipline Pack bred, but there is something about her that seems unnervingly unfamiliar. Foreign. I reach for the cool I keep deep within me.

"Who's asking?' Ignoring the sharp glare Mistress Cunningham shoots me from the corner of my eye, I continue to smile sweetly. She returns my smile tightly, lacing her fingers together.

"You may refer to me as Miss Prior," she tells me. Her tone is no nonsense. Miss Prior it is, I suppose. "I am a representative for a corporation who took interest in your speech. I am here to inquire if you are interested in joining us for a period of time."

"My speech?" I recall flatly. "I didn't say anything."

By the look on Prior's face, I'm not catching onto something very obvious. "We are interested in your defiance. I spoke to your Mistress earlier and she expressed you don't fit in here very well. You also seem to have a knack for not following the rules."

What kind of backwards world have I stepped into? "It's not a knack," I say tiredly.

I'm walking along the thin line of patience she is offering. If she is so interested in my defiance, this shouldn't surprise her. In fact, she should adoring this. However, the tensing of her jaw muscles, and the slightest frown line above her brow suggests otherwise.

"There is a competition, that requires a great amount of commitment, that we are certain will be a great experience for you," Prior suggests, that rather fake smile gracing her face again. She could at least try seem genuine.

"A reform, if you will," Cunningham cuts in. My expression twists.

"If you're a representative, you should be doing a better job of explaining this. Currently, sweeping criminals cells for a living seems like a better time than this."

"Then let me explain," she says calmly, although poison seethes between her words. "There is a competition only twelve subjects are selected for. Three are eliminated at a time, before only three are left. Those three shall work a lucrative job that includes many perks. Such as working for the Alpha himself. And travelling, even."

I take a moment to answer - letting them all anticipate my next move. "Okay. Now I'm interested. However, I'm still unsure on what this whole competition is about. And why I'm good for it? Let's be real, I'll not even make it through the first round, no matter what it is."

"You don't know that," she says, swallowing some kind of snide remark. At least that's what I assume that expression belongs to. "Unfortunately, this is highly confidential, which means that I can't tell you exactly what the competition entails. You will just have to believe me, and sign the contract." I raise an eyebrow at her.

"That doesn't sound reasonable, does it?"

"Many will never receive such an honour. Guarding cells in utter darkness at all times, with no reprieve will not reap rewards as lucrative as these," she tells me. She reaches for a briefcase, pulling it up to her lap. Unclipping it, she delicately pulls a piece of paper out, laying out in front of me. A single page contract. I go to reach for it, but she slaps it away with the opposite hand that holds a ball point pen. "Listen. We are taught in this Pack that faith should be opposed. So, I can't be faulted for not really thinking this is going to work out for me," I remind her, leaning back in the chair.

"Completely understandable," she says sourly. "But imagine an auspicious life of travelling, or working for your Alpha. I promise you, this contract applies only to your acceptance into the competition. We have another contract to be signed later, once things are explained to you in detail."

I weigh my options in my mind. "Alright, I'm in," I say abruptly, much to the surprise of everyone in the room. I motion with my fingers for her slide the pen over to me.

"I have nothing to live for at this point, so I'm in." The truth is, I had accepted the fact that my life would most likely entail being locked underneath the ground, a slave to a prison warden. I would escape eventually, surely, however, in order to remain inconspicuous, I would have to work for a few months at least. And I dreaded such a job. I hated the idea of it with every fibre in my bones.

As much as I don't admit it, the idea of this competition, or potentially being able to travel and see the rest of the land seems very appealing. I sign the paper before allowing Miss Prior to take it back off me. She attempts to conceal her triumphant smile, but I can see the underlying smugness in that smile. She's achieved her goal. She plucks a phone out of her pocket as she stands.

"I have a phone call to make. These men behind you will escort you out to the car." Glancing over my shoulder, two very broad shouldered men stand behind me, looking at the far wall. One is bigger than the other, with bulkier muscles and scruffy blond hair. The other seems meeker, but as intimidating as the other. I turn back around, looking at Miss Prior in surprise.

"Now?" I question.

"We have to be prompt," she tells me, punching numbers into the screen of her phone. "This is a one chance thing. You don't get another if you had said no. We leave now. You will need to be briefed by sunset."

With that, she swiftly walks out the door, leaving me stunned and speechless. Did this really happen? I have no idea what I signed up for, but regardless, I'm anxious.

"You should go," is all Mistress Cunningham says before she also departs. I don't waste much time. When I ask the men if they would stay here while I collected my belongings, they refused, insisting I move with words, then by physical contact, which I ver much despised. Grabbing my arms, they push me out the Halls, and out the building.

Mercifully enough, everyone is too distracted by their own ministrations to notice my situation. I haven't left this institution in years. So stepping foot out, feeling the freedom surround me, is euphoric enough, despite the men plastered to my side. Their car is a sleek dark blue vehicle which the blond man opens for me. I look in, and then around me. The building behind me stretches tall, shadowing the courtyard. There is a massive scale fence to keep any one who wanted to escape in. I was never that foolish. I'm marvelling more at seeing the clear blue sky in real life, then through a foggy window. I take my seat in the car, the door being slammed behind me. This is real. I inhale the leather upholstery smell as I watch Prior skip down the steps, before joining us in the car.

"Where are we going?" I question, as the car starts up, and we pull out of the courtyard. Prior turns in her seat to look at me.

"The institute where you will live, train and compete for however long you last. It's on the other side of the Pack, so sit tight." I'm too interested in seeing the rest of the Pack to get bored in the hours that follow. The place as institutionalised as I have always assumed. Every business district is immaculate, neighbourhoods tidy, prisons kept hidden behind large fences. By the time we had made it to where we needed to be, I've convinced myself I must have seen everything possible in this Pack. But when we arrive, I've decided I've never seen anything like this.

An incredibly large, looming wall shadows the gate. It must be made of obsidian or something, because it's large, thick and ebony black. As far as I can see, it reaches. In front of the car is a gate which opens upon arrival, and we glide on through. The other side opens up onto a smooth asphalt road. Around are bare fields, surrounded in short fences. In the distance, we approach too large buildings.

One is is a home, I assume, which is surrounded by another wall - not nearly as large at the border one. It conceals most of the building beyond. We cruise past that one, and continue on, the road turning into gravel. My home for an unknown period of time approaches quickly. From what I can see, there are multiple buildings scattered in close proximity, paths leading to each. The middle is the smallest, only one story. While the others around it are much larger and bulkier.

"Welcome to your new home," Miss Prior says, turning around to smile at me. What have I gotten myself into?