I Am Mustafin

My name is Alaki Bea Miller-or in the world above: Alaki Bea X.

That is what us, the inferior, are referred to: X.

You think you understand until you're living it. You don't get just how little they think of you until you're kneeling before them, beaten and battered.

The cold, unforgiving marble of the courtroom floor bites into my knees, sending shivers up my spine. The harsh fluorescent lights beat down on me, making me feel exposed, vulnerable. Five pairs of eyes bore into me from above, each set belonging to a Ringleader-the masters of our fractured world.

The air in the courtroom is stifling, thick with tension and the cloying scent of expensive cologne-a luxury reserved for the elite. My throat is dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow my fear. The taste of copper lingers-remnants of the beating I endured before being dragged here.

After the third war, the governments collapsed. Countries occupied by millions of human beings were bombed, destroyed, leaving unseen forces that forbid us from ever stepping onto another land apart from the only one saved, the only one not destroyed: Serenity.

But Serenity is anything but serene for those of us who don't belong.

Five million humans remained and were divided into five Rings, each human classified by their physical attributes. The pure-bloods became the superior and the forbidden children, conceived by two of different races, were seen as inferior-an abomination that threatens their fragile system.

Diallo, Santos, Talos, Wen, and Mustafin: the five Rings that dictate our fates.

I am no leader and I am no special kind of half-blood-as they call us. I am but a mere human being...just like the rest of us. But here, on my knees, I am less than human. I am a subject that needs to be controlled, a thing that needs disposing of.

The Arbiter's voice cuts through the tense silence of the courtroom, each word hammering nails in my coffin. "Gentlemen, we've reached a decision. Subject Alaki Bea X will be taken under the sole custody of Ringleader Mustafin to be kept as property."

Property.

The word echoes in my mind, each repetition a fresh blow to my already battered spirit.

How did I get here..?

My mind races, trying to piece together the events that led to this moment, to the choices that landed me here.

| I Am Mustafin |

The heel of my combat boots clicks against the echoey tunnels, the musty scent of damp earth filling my nostrils. Cool air sends a shiver down my spine as I walk deeper into our underground sanctuary.

Dim bulbs flicker overhead, casting long shadows on the weed-covered walls. Ahead, I can see my friends, Antonio and Miya, approaching with an uneasy look on their faces.

"What's going on?" I ask, my voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Maya's dark eyes meet mine, a slight tremor in her voice. "Someone tried to get in..."

"We just got back from above," Antonio adds, his broad shoulders tense. "There's evidence of digging on the other side."

Miya parts her lips to speak again, an urgent look on her face, when a husky voice interrupts from behind. "Well, whoever it was, they're gone now." I turn to see Jeremy moving toward us, his calm demeanor almost reassuring.

This is why he's part of the leadership-a sound voice in the midst of our inevitable demise.

Miya hands Jeremy a pack of needles, her worried smile a reminder of the worry looming over us all: Briannah's recovery.

"Is she going to be okay?" Miya asks softly.

"Don't you worry about that now," Jeremy's voice is soft, steady. He offers her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, shooting an all-too familiar look at Antonio.

She's getting worse.

Antonio recognizes it, and lets out a heavy sigh, moving to Miya where he throws his arm around her. "Alrighty," he ushers her down the tunnel, his voice all faux nonchalance, "let's get going."

I shoot them a small smile as they take off, leaving me standing alone with the weed covered walls and a well composed Jeremy. I have to give him credit for his impeccable ability to remain calm and hopeful through all of this.

Briannah's his girlfriend, for four years now.

"I have arranged a meeting for later today," Jeremy states abruptly.

"Oh?" I muse.

I'm not sure why he's bringing this up with me-I'm not part of the leadership group.

He sighs with an irritable look on his face, crossing his arms just beneath his chest. "I would like for you to attend this time."

Don't you always?

"I told you," I breathe out in exasperation, shaking my head, "I'm not interested."

His hazel-green eyes look at me once-over, lingering on my curly hair and navy blue t-shirt. "You already carry yourself like a leader. Why are you so keen on being just like everybody else?"

The truth is that I don't want to be responsible for anyone. Yes, I do-from time to time-go out of my way to do more than I have to, but that is because I want to. Agreeing to take on that kind of responsibility means being held accountable when things go south.

Yeah...no, thanks.

"I'm just not interested, Jeremy," I say finally, my tone brooking no argument. With that, I turn to look down the dead end of the tunnel, studying it. I'm more interested in whoever attempted to find their way in.

Jeremy seems to understand that, and a moment later, I hear his footsteps receding. I linger on the spot a while longer, just briefly turning my head to eye the ten-foot-high and five-foot-wide hole that Antonio and Miya used to return into the tunnels.

I guess it really works.

I slip my hands into my pockets following behind Jeremy silently, lost in thought. These tunnels, our refuge, run twenty miles long, connecting to each sector above ground. It's not easy finding your way in here, but once you do, it's hard to forget.

I reach the center market, watching families go about their day. It's a happy place, where we offer what we can and help where we're needed. A form of capitalism, as they called it in the old world.

Finally, I reach my destination: Briannah's cob house. I come to a stop at the doorless entrance, my knuckles rapping against the hard clay. After a moment, I peek my head inside, hearing the familiar voice of Doctor Caleb echo, "Come in."

Doctor Caleb, the sweet middle aged man with the brain of a genius. He's one of the rare few that were born and raised above ground and was later sentenced to death for his unforgivable crime: he fornicated with a woman of a different Ring.

With cautious steps, I silently enter the well-kept home, moving until I meet Briannah's bedroom.

My arms are crossed just beneath my chest as I lean my shoulder against the wall, catching the gaze of the red-haired man who glances back at me. While he tends to a now bed-bound Briannah, I notice Jeremy out of the corner of my eye. He stands on the far left side of the room with a bleak look on his face.

Though he likes to pretend as if he isn't worried in the slightest, I know better than anyone that this is killing him inside.

Briannah's cough breaks the silence, blood staining the white towel Caleb holds to her mouth. My heart races as I watch, helpless.

"It's alright," Caleb says softly, bringing a cup of water to her lips. "Get some rest," he tells her as he carefully positions her head back on the pillow. With this, he quickly gathers his tools and nods for the exit, motioning for Jeremy and me to follow.

"What's wrong with her, Caleb?" Jeremy asks, his voice rough like gravel.

Caleb sighs as he turns to the both of us, a thoughtful look on his hard features. "The good news is that she is going to be okay," he reassures and almost instantly, a wave of relief washes over us.

"However," he adds as he hands Jeremy a hand-written piece of paper, "she is going to need medicine. What has been causing her headaches, fever, and the coughing of blood is a sinus infection."

At the mere mention of medicine, Jeremy and I turn to look at each other, knowing that the responsibility is going to fall on one of us.

"One of you will have to make the trip." Caleb shoots Jeremy and I one last look before he walks away, leaving us to decide amongst ourselves.

Although it's true that from time to time some of us take the risk of leaving these walls to get a breath of fresh air or hunt for food other than the vegetables and fruit that grow in the large greenhouse back in old Phil's place, it's dangerous.

I have only been out of the tunnels a few times in my life but I have never gone out with the intention to go into town, much less for a purchase at a crowded store. Jobs like that are typically left to the others who live here and hardly look like half-bloods or aren't half-bloods at all.

Unfortunately, a job like this calls for someone who is willing to put their life on the line for someone they care about. And for Briannah, it's me or Jeremy.

"I'll go," Jeremy decides without hesitation.

I scoff, arguing, "No, you won't."

His brows furrow as I snatch the paper from his hand. "You have a meeting to attend," I mutter before he can protest, and as I turn away from him, he grips my upper-arm, pulling me back.

At first, I expect him to fight me for it. But to my surprise, he doesn't seem to want to. Instead his voice trails off as he says, "Alaki, don't go alone. If you get caught..."

"I know, Jeremy," I breathe out, pulling out of his grip. "I know."

I know his reasons for backing down. He has far more to lose than I do. But beyond that, if anyone were in a situation where they were caught, I would be the perfect subject: I know exactly what and what not to do.

With that, I make my way to my next stop: Old Morris' place, across the market center.

"Morris?" I call as I approach the Jade keeper stand, my eyes briefly scanning the nearly empty grounds as families retire for the evening.

"Alaki!" Morris greets as he stands from the large rock he had been sitting, approaching the wooden counter. His large blue eyes meet my own, kindly asking, "What can I getcha?"

I smile at the sight of the wholehearted old man. I've known him all of my life and it almost seems as if he never changes-inside and out. The same old gray hair covers his chin and jawline, and not a single bald spot serves to ruin that perfectly fully-haired head of his.

"I need to go buy medicine for Briannah," I explain.

"How is she?"

If there is anyone who knows everyone, it's Morris. He runs the underground diamond mine and sells the product across Serenity. He's known for being the largest producer of gems across all Sectors. He's one of the few who were born and raised above ground, like Doctor Caleb. The only difference is that Morris isn't wanted for a crime. He's just a lot like a mafia boss-selling illegally mined gems in exchange for seemingly unlimited currency, minus the violence.

"She's going to be okay," I say softly. "Caleb says she has a sinus infection?"

"Ah, yes..." Morris nods. "Those can get pretty nasty."

He reaches for a small crossbody burlap bag and draws his hand into the large box beneath the counter. He draws a couple of Jade bills and slips them into the bag, offering me a smile as he hands it to me.

"Here you are. Threw in a little extra in case you get hungry."

Yeah...that's not gonna happen.

I thank him kindly, securing the strap across my torso, the bag hanging right at my hip

"It is always my pleasure, sweetie."

With that, I begin my way out of the market. But before I'm too far gone, I hear Morris call.

"Eh! You got anyone to go with you?"

I halt in my tracks, my breath caught in my lungs. When I turn around, I find him standing next to a dark-skinned teenage boy. His head clean-shaven, he could easily pass as a valid Ring member, if it wasn't for those damning hazel-green eyes.

"This is Marcus," Morris introduces. "He's a good kid and hasn't been out in years. He should help you blend right in."

As if on cue, Marcus slips on a pair of shades. Contemplating, I study him, his composure, his clothing. Between the combat boots, the black cargo pants, and the white t-shirt, the shades seal the deal.

Well, he's not wrong.

"Alright," I say. "Let's go."

The forest air feels electric as Marcus and I emerge from the tunnel. The setting sun bathes everything in a warm, golden light, filtering through the leaves above us. I can feel its warmth on my skin, penetrating the fabric of my hoodie's sleeves.

"Alaki?" Marcus' voice echoes from behind me, tinged with nervous excitement.

"Hmm?" I hum lightly, keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings as we navigate through the forest. The crunch of leaves and twigs under our feet seems unnaturally loud in the quiet woods.

"What's the plan?" Marcus asks as I shoot him a sideways glance through the shades keeping my eyes from exposure.

Unlike me, he's safe as long as his eyes remain hidden. His skin tone matches perfectly with the citizens of the Diallo Ring. Meanwhile, mine is perfectly imperfect, a shade too dark to convince anyone I belong to the Santos Ring and not dark enough to blend in as a Diallo.

I take a deep breath, the scent of pine and earth filling my lungs. "Don't get caught," I answer sharply.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him side-eye me. His sarcastic tone is unmistakable as he asks, "No, really?"

I chuckle softly, shaking my head ever-so-slightly as I breathe out, "Alright. We're in Talos' territory -"

"Why?" He cuts me off, pointing out the obvious, "Neither of us looks like we belong there."

A sigh parts my lips as I explain. "The borders are still open. Other Ring members should still be roaming in different sectors. The Talos sector is the largest manufacturer in medicine, therefore we should have no issue finding what we need there. We go in, get what we need, and if we're stopped for questioning, we say we are on our way to the border to cross over to the Diallo sector."

I pause momentarily, letting my words sink in. "Got it?"

"Yeah," he mutters, nodding with an uneasy look on his face. "But what if we get caught?"

I halt on my tracks, arching a brow as he follows suit. "Are you sure you want to go?" I ask sharply, not wanting to drag him with me if he isn't sure that he can handle it.

I hardly know the kid and truth be told, I wasn't too sure about bringing him along to begin with. I only agreed because I know what it's like to have to stay in those tunnels without getting so much as a glimpse of what's beyond them.

Pity. I took pity on him. But a nervous man calls for more attention than we can afford.

"Hell yeah," his abrupt burst of confidence catches me off guard. "I'm down. I'm just askin', ya know?"

I eye him for a moment, exhaling sharply in an attempt to settle my own nerves. I nod at the direction we're headed, urging him to keep up as I tell him, "If either of us gets caught, take the medicine and run. I'll draw them away."

As we approach the city outskirts, the forest gives way to paved streets and towering buildings. It looks exactly like I remember it from the last time I stepped out-three years ago. Cars whoosh past, their engines a constant background noise.

We emerge onto the empty sidewalk, and I can already feel my heart at my throat. The concrete beneath our shoes feels alien after the soft forest floor. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, but I try to keep a slow and steady pace.

My cautious eyes stay alert, making sure that there are no military bases nearby or soldiers roaming the streets with those damn dogs of theirs that can smell the difference between what they are-pure-bloods–and what we are-half-bloods.

We walk multiple blocks down, passing small neighborhoods and stores, and I'm relieved to find that quite a few different skins are walking the streets beside companions of different Rings.

Marcus and I blend right in.

Marcus' voice shakes ever-so-slightly as he asks, "So, can I ask you a question?"

He's nervous.

As much as I like to pretend that I am not too, I choose to entertain him, for both of our sakes.

I nod, giving him the go ahead that prompts him to ask, "Are you single?"

I snicker softly, shaking my head. "I'm too old for you, that's what I am."

The corners of his lips curl into a smile, nudging at me. "What are you? Thirty?"

Almost instantly, I snap my head to the side. "No. Twenty-three," I say defensively. "Why? Do I look thirty?"

He laughs and shakes his head, shrugging as he retorts, "We're only seven years apart. That's not that bad."

Um...sir? You are a child.

I arch a brow, averting my gaze to the building with the large sign over it that reads 'Drug Store'.

"What?" he says suddenly. "My parents have a fifteen year age difference."

"Your parents."

"Oh yeah?" He continues to nudge me. "What about yours?"

I don't respond, not wanting to get into the sappy sob story of how I was orphaned at just a year old. It isn't long before we find ourselves approaching the entrance. The automatic doors slide open, enveloping us in artificially cool air. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz softly, casting everything in a bright glow.

I briefly glance at the blue-eyed, blond male standing behind the counter. Unsurprisingly, he looks just like the average Talos, and his attitude solidifies it. He doesn't greet us, but instead, he eyes me suspiciously as Marcus and I walk to the counter.

If I didn't know better, I'd think that he's trying really hard to figure out where I belong.

Jokes on you. I don't.

He continues studying me until his eyes land on Marcus, then the hard look on his features softens.

Maybe bringing him along wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"What do you need?" The man asks, his tone borderline aggressive.

Without a word, I place the note that Caleb gave me on the counter. I try not to fidget, but it's hard to remain still when I can hear my own heart pounding in my ears.

All it would take is him asking the wrong-or right-questions.

"It's a little sunny in here, isn't it?" the cashier comments, his eyes flickering to my shades.

Shit.

I feel Marcus shift uncomfortably beside me as I desperately try to remain calm. He parts his lips to speak, but then his eyes catch something else-or someone else. Whoever's standing behind me evidently makes him nervous.

"I-I'm sorry sir," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-I'll be right with you."

The cashier excuses himself to the back storage, and time seems to slow to a crawl. Suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of the warm bodies standing behind me.

Who is it? Why did he seem so nervous?

My palms grow sweaty as I try to control my breathing, the rise and fall of my chest feeling unnaturally rapid. I contemplate looking back, the muscles in my neck tensing with the urge to turn.

No. Too risky.

When the cashier finally returns, the medicine bottle rattles slightly in his shaking hands. His earlier suspicion seems to have vanished, replaced by an almost frantic energy. His fingers tremble as he inputs the sale into his computer system, the soft beeping unnaturally loud in the quiet store.

"Seven," he says, his voice strained as he pushed the white paper bag toward me.

I move quickly but carefully, keeping my hands hidden beneath the counter. The jade bills feel cool against my sweaty palms as I take them from the burlap bag. While the cashier's attention is on Marcus, I place the money on the counter.

His gaze never leaves Marcus, accepting the payment as Marcus reaches for the medicine. We turn to leave, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. But as I step forward, I collide with something solid. My heart leaps into my throat as I stumble backward, my lower back hitting the counter hard enough to make me wince.

Time seems to stop as my shades slip down my nose. The store's harsh lighting floods my vision, and I find myself staring directly into a pair of piercing green eyes of a tall, muscular man in an impeccably tailored navy blue suit, his bead neatly trimmed. His plump lips are set in a straight line, but there's an unexpected gentleness in his gaze that holds me transfixed.

I don't notice the tall men in black suits standing on either side of him, each of them with a hard look on their face, until I slide the shades back into place and they take a step forward. I can almost feel their hands reaching for me, my heart leaping into my throat.

But the man in the center raises his hand, halting them. His eyes never leave my blue ones, and I know with a chilling certainty that he's seen what I am. My hand trembles visibly as I adjust my shades, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it.

I'm done. It's over.

I stand frozen, staring at the eyes of the man in the blue suit, waiting for the alarm to be raised, for rough hands to grab me. But instead, the man nods his head to the side, silently telling me to go.

Oh, my God...

Something I can't quite name washes over me-relief? fear?-but I don't dwell on it. I can't. My legs move of their own accord, carrying me past the man. I grab Marcus' arm, probably too tightly, and all but drag him out of the store.

We don't slow down, our footsteps echoing on the sidewalk as we hurry away. The streets blur around us, my focus narrowed to the path ahead and the need to put as much distance as possible between us and the store.

It isn't until we've walked several blocks that I allow myself to slow down. Beside me, Marcus exhales heavily, the sound ragged with relief and lingering fear.

My mind races, replaying the encounter over and over.

Maybe he didn't see me?

...

No, he saw me. I looked right into his eyes. He saw me...

I glance at Marcus, noting the anxiety etched into every line of his face. Whether it's from the encounter with the man or the nervous cashier, I can't tell. But I force myself to push the questions aside, forcing myself to focus on what's ahead.

The mission isn't over and I don't want to make him worry any more than he should.

The hard part is done.

We walk in silence for a moment longer, my mind scrambling to come up with something-anything-to distract the very obviously nervous teenage boy beside me.

"Three," I blurt out.

Marcus furrows his brows, confusion momentarily replacing the worry on his face. "What?"

"My parents," I clarify, surprised by how steady my voice sounds even to my own ears. "They had a three-year age difference."

"Had?" he echoes, his tone laced with a cautious undercurrent.

"They're dead." The words come out flat, emotionless, and I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"I-I'm sorry," he mutters, and we lapse back into silence.

I don't elaborate, knowing the rumors of how my mother died jumping off of a cliff and my father was killed by Talos' authority will soon get around to him. It's a story known to many in the underground community-a tale of forbidden love and tragic consequences. One that took place in the very sector that we're walking in.

Morris had explained it all to me when I was old enough to understand. He'd been friends with my parents, had witnessed their downfall. Their crime? Loving someone from a different Ring.

Morris told me that it was an accident, that they didn't mean to get caught. But sometimes I can't help but wonder if the reason they were caught was because they abandoned me. Maybe they tried to ask for forgiveness from their respective Ringleaders and ended up being executed instead.

Can I blame them?

Before I can spiral down the same rabbit hole, a loud alarm cuts through the air, both of us involuntarily jolting.

"What is that?" Marcus yells, his voice barely audible over the piercing sound.

The sound is familiar. I hear it all too often when I walk on edge of the tunnels at this time of day.

It's 7:45PM...

"Warning alarm," I say, my voice laced with urgency. "We need to move."

He doesn't hesitate, the paperbag crunching under his hold. Out of the corner of my eye, I see men dressed in black uniforms, pouring out of vehicles, rushing to their posts.

This is what they call the 'Forewarning Quarter'. At 8PM, the border to cross into the next sector is closed and it remains closed until 12PM the following day. It is a crime to stay in the sector of a Ring that you don't belong to after hours, so the alarm rings at 7:45PM to warn visitors that they have fifteen minutes to cross the border.

But of course, there are exceptions. They're just not relevant to us.

Marcus and I hurry down the block, just two more blocks away from the edge of the forest. But as we come closer, my heart sinks when a pair of soldiers begin walking toward us from the corner ahead. They walk past us, and for a moment, I'm relieved.

That is until one of them calls out. "Hey!"

I feel Marcus tense beside me, his body coiling to sprint. "Stop," I hiss through clenched teeth. "Don't panic."

I steel myself, my own movements ceasing.

Don't panic. Stay calm.

We turn to face the soldiers, my heart hammering in my chest. The palms of my hands break in light sweat, my knuckles bleaching as I clench my fists tightly in anticipation.

"Where are you two headed?" one of them asks, his tone deceptively casual.

He looks nonchalant, not a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. And I'm relieved until I turn to look at his fellow soldier and I notice the intensity in his gaze. He eyes me from head to toe, the hard look in his eyes never faltering.

I open my mouth to respond, but my voice fails me. My tongue feels like lead, heavy and immovable.

"The border," Marcus answers smoothly, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. I could kiss him for his quick thinking.

It's okay. We're going to be okay.

For a moment that stretches into eternity, the soldiers regard us. Then, miraculously, the first one nods. "Be on your way then."

Oh, thank God.

Relief floods through me, so intense it makes me dizzy. We turn to leave, our calm exteriors belying the storm of emotions underneath.

But we've only taken a few steps when a second voice calls out.

"Hold on. You, in the hoodie."

My blood runs cold. "Keep going," I whisper to Marcus, my voice barely audible. "Don't look back."

I turn slowly, back to the soldiers, facing what feels like my fate. The one who called me back locks his arms behind his back, his brow furrowing as he questions me.

"Where do you belong?" he asks, his tone leaving no room for evasion.

There's an investigative look in his eyes as he analyzes me like I'm under a microscope. I know by now he's noticed my ambiguous coloring, the shade that doesn't quite fit any single Ring.

"Santos," I lie, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"That so?" he muses, skepticism dripping from every syllable.

The air seems to thicken, making it hard to breathe. And then, the words that hang everything in suspension:

"Remove the shades."

In this moment, balanced on a knife's edge between freedom and capture, I realize that everything-Briannah's life, Marcus' safety, my own future-hinges on what I do next.

My heart skips a beat, anxiety and adrenaline pulsing through my veins. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a pair of soldiers crossing the street, their boots rhythmically hitting the pavement as they approach. My body feels like it's on fire, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across my skin.

I take a step back, glancing over my shoulder to see Marcus disappearing around the corner towards the forest's edge.

At least the medicine is safe. They'll be safe.

As I turn back to face the soldiers, one of them steps forward. My hand moves instinctively to my face, fingers grasping the frame of my shades. The soldier halts, waiting. The world seems to hold its breath as I slowly remove the glasses.

Time's up.

My gaze snaps up, meeting the icy blue eyes of the nearest soldier. I exhale shakily, the cool evening air making my feverish skin breakout in goosebumps. Then, without warning, I break into a sprint.

The shades slip from my grasp, shattering on the concrete. But the sound is quickly drowned out by a furious shout: "It's a goddamn X!"

My feet pound against the pavement, each step jarring through my body. An ear-piercing alarm cuts through the air, and suddenly the street is bathed in a deep, pulsing red light. It's not the usual Closing Quarter alarm-this is something far more sinister.

My heart thunders in my ears, drowning out everything but the slap of my boots on the ground and my ragged breathing. Ahead, I spot three more soldiers in black uniforms running straight for me. I make a sharp left, barely squeezing through a closing gate. The property owner's angry snarl follows me as I dash across his backyard.

I vault over a wooden fence, the rough boards scraping my palms. I tuck and roll as I land, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs. As I scramble to my feet, an angry growl freezes my blood.

No... No, no, no.

I see it: a massive Rottweiler charging towards me, teeth bared.

Panic surges through me as I spot a ladder against the nearby house. I lunge for it, my hands grasping the cool metal rungs. But I'm not fast enough. The dog's teeth sink into my boot, tearing through leather and into flesh. A yelp of pain escapes me as I kick out, my free foot connecting with the dog's head.

I drag myself up the ladder, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through my ankle. As I reach the roof, the deafening whir of helicopter blades fills the air. The wind whips my hair around my face as soldiers begin to rappel down.

There's nowhere left to run. And with no other option, I jump.

The impact is brutal. A sickening pop in my ankle is followed by a sharp, shooting pain up to my knee. I land hard on my shoulder, agony lancing through my collarbone and neck.

Get up. Get up! Get up! Get up! You have to keep moving.

I bite back a scream, forcing myself to my feet. But as I try to take a step, my injured ankle gives way. The fight drains out of me as I limp across the lawn, but the wailing alarm and flashing red lights don't stop.

Then, seemingly out of no where, a black truck screeches to a halt in front of me, 'Special Talos Forces' emblazoned on its side in stark white letters. Before I can react, someone grabs a fistful of my hair, slamming my face against the truck's cold metal door. Pain explodes through my skull, my vision blurring.

Rough hands wrench my arms behind my back, cold metal biting into my wrists as handcuffs click shut. I'm thrown into the truck, landing hard on my injured shoulder. The doors slam shut with a finality that chills me to the bone.

A hiss fills the air, followed by a noxious smell that burns my nose and throat. My limbs grow heavy, my thoughts sluggish. As the truck lurches into motion, I fight to stay conscious, focusing on the gray bench in front of me even as my vision swims.

Stay awake. Do not fall asleep.

I don't know how long it is until the truck finally stops, and I'm yanked out unceremoniously. My feet drag across unfamiliar ground as I'm half-carried into a blindingly white room. The fluorescent lights sear my retinas, adding to the pounding in my head.

I'm thrown to the floor, the cold surface a shock against my skin. I try to move, try to fight, but I can't.

The gas... I can't move.

I feel my shirt being cut away, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Despite the paralysis induced by whatever gas they used, I flinch when a needle plunges into my arm.

No... What's going on? What are they doing to me?

Through the haze, I hear words that make my blood run cold: "It's a mutt. Brand it."

Then, pain.

Excruciating pain.

It sears across my chest, the acrid smell of burning flesh, the cruel laughter of my tormentors, and my screams wailing-it all blends into a hellish blur.

"Shut up!" an angry voice snarls, and the breath from my lungs is kicked out of me, bruising my sides.

Please, make it stop...

I whimper in pain as more blows follow, simultaneously beating me until the last one aims perfectly for the side of my head and my neck pops. This time, the familiar ringing in my ears sounds like music, and I'm too far gone to care as I feel myself being dragged against the cold floor.

"The other one got away," a man's voice confirms as the echoing sound receding footsteps meets my ears, distant and hazy.

Marcus..?

...

Good. He did good.

In that, I find relief. Relief in the gift of knowing that the last thing that I did was save my friend's life. That at least I know I will not die in vain.

For a moment, I almost feel happy, and I finally give in to the darkness pulling me away. But as I allow myself to slip away, another thought crosses my mind, and I've never felt more terrified: this isn't over, I'm not dead yet.