| 5 | Chains of Custody

My tongue feels like sandpaper, my muscles aching with the burning of my dry skin. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sickly glow on everything, making the white walls of my cell seem to close in on me.

Time has become a blur. I don’t remember when was the last time I had a drop of water, my lips dry and cracked. The soldier who came to question me and beat me really wasn’t joking when he told me to drink out of the toilet—there is no sink.

I refused to do it.

Who knows how many desperate souls have been in here before me, or when the toilet was last cleaned? Its silver rim still gleams mockingly, but looks can be deceiving.

I’ve been monitoring my wounds, but they don’t seem to be getting better, no doubt a result of malnourishment and dehydration. I’m not sure how much longer it’ll be until I’m taken to court and I’m also unsure of how much longer I can go without water.

One thing I’m sure of: I do not want to die here.

I lean my back against the wall, my eyes fixed on my bare feet. I had removed the boots from them, peeled the bloody socks off too, setting them beside me like discarded pieces of my former life. The air conditioner hums, then abruptly cuts off, leaving an eerie silence.

These luxuries, I am only familiar with them because I had read about them in the library at Selina’s place. That kind-hearted woman… she taught me how to read.

I miss her, I miss my friends, and I miss my home.

I don’t want to die…

My gaze drifts to the toilet, positioned next to the thin mattress thrown carelessly on the floor—my designated bed. The decision I’ve been avoiding can’t be postponed… not anymore.

I won’t die here.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself to my feet, using the wall for support. The room spins as I take unsteady steps towards the toilet. Just as I reach it, my legs give out, and I crash to the floor, my hands gripping the cold rim to stay upright.

The water’s surface is like a mirror, reflecting the harsh ceiling lights. I catch a glimpse of my reflection and barely recognize myself. Sunken eyes rimmed with dark circles stare back at me, my lips cracked and peeling.

This can’t be me.

This broken, desperate creature isn’t Alaki Bea Miller.

She is not me.

Hot tears sting my eyes as I dip my trembling hand into the cool water. I bring it to my lips, the liquid heaven as it slides down my parched throat. A moan of relief escapes me as I drink handful after handful until the reality of what I’m doing sinks in, and suddenly, I’m disgusted.

“You truly are pitiful.”

The familiar voice cuts through my shame. I snap my head up, my wet hands trembling away from the toilet. The man who’d done this to me, who’d driven the corner of a clipboard through my burn wound, stands there, his face a mask of revulsion. Two equally disdainful men flank him, all in black uniforms that scream Talos military.

“Get it up,” he orders, and his men move swiftly, their grip bruising as they haul me to my feet.

They march me down a dimly lit hallway, practically dragging me past countless empty cells identical to mine. The sound of our footsteps echoes ominously off the bare walls. Finally, we stop before a pair of large wooden doors, guarded by two more stone-faced, blue-eyed, blond-haired Talos men.

As the doors swing open, my heart pounds so hard I’m actually afraid it might burst from my chest.

Why are we here? What’s going to happen to me?

I want to fight. To kick and scream, but my body’s too weak, too tired.

And then I’m being dragged again, across the cold marble and forced to my knees, my palms slapping against the floor. I draw a shaky breath, my skin breaking out in goosebumps as I look up slowly, taking in the room.

I’ve never been in a courtroom before, but it’s exactly as I imagined and somehow more intimidating.

Talos’ Arbiter…

There, on a podium, a stern-face man with piercing hazel-blue eyes sits high. And across from him, give distinguished men in expensive suits. One beside the other, they sit tall in high back red leather chairs.

The Ringleaders…

“The medical team has examined blood samples that were taken after the Subject was anesthetized,” the Arbiter begins.

Anesthetized..? I was awake. For all of it.

Flashbacks of the stinging sensation of the needle going through my arm, the searing pain of being branded and being beaten for screaming play in my head. And when the Arbiter starts listing my genetic makeup like a shopping list, my world tilts on its axis.

“The results are as follows: Talos - positive, Wen - negative, Santos - negative, Diallo - positive, Mustafin - positive.”

No. That’s impossible.

He pauses, eyeing me momentarily before adding, “It seems that Subject Alaki Bea X is a second generation Subject X.”

No…I’m not.

I furrow my brows at him, narrowing my eyes on him. I know there’s been a mistake. My mother belonged to the Diallo Ring and my father was a Talos man—each of them pure, of one race, one Ring.

I am not Mustafin.

“Before we proceed to a vote, are there any questions?” He asks as he looks up from the stack of papers, his gaze falling on the five men before him but fixed on only three.

The first to speak is the Diallo Ringleader. The man sits tall in a gray suit, adorned with diamond earrings and a black tie. His dark complexion complements his beautiful dark brown eyes, full lips, and the light mustache above them.

“Why is the Subject half naked?” he questions, giving me a long, hard look before shifting his gaze to the Arbiter.

The Arbiter flips through the papers on the bench, finally saying, “Master Deonta’e, according to our records, the Subject refused proper clothing and hygiene.”

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

After a long pause, Deonta’e follows up, “And the injuries? Why is the Subject in this condition?”

“The record indicates resistance during arrest,” the Arbiter replies smoothly.

My blood boils. I can’t help but shake my head, scoffing.

Lies. They beat me after they caught me. They’re all lies.

“Clearly, medical treatment was withheld,” the green-eyed man sitting next to Deonta’e interjects. “Why?”

The Arbiter barely hesitates. “Master Efrem, our records show the Subject rejected medical attention.”

At this, I am at the verge of laughing in pure anger. Medical attention is the last thing I would’ve rejected in this state. I didn’t want to die in that cell. I would’ve accepted it, in a heartbeat.

Just tune it out. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’ll be over soon.

I can feel the intensity of the eyes watching me, eyeing me like they’ve never seen a battered woman before. Or maybe…maybe it’s because they’ve probably never seen a biracial woman in real life.

Just when I think the questions have come to an end, Efrem clears his throat. “I want to hear from the soldier who filed this report.”

What for? He’ll just lie again.

I look at Efrem, really look at him this time. He sits tall, his jaw sharp, a neatly trimmed beard, and long, batting lashes that really put an emphasis on his emerald green eyes. This man, he’s the pinnacle of Mustafin perfection, the master of his race, the leader of his ring.

Suddenly, my heart skips a beat, realization dawning on me. I’ve seen this man before…

The drug sore.

“General Corvin Talos, sir,” a familiar voice announces.

My head snaps up, my eyes widening as I see my tormentor standing there.

General? That’s the fucking Talos’ General?!

“General,” Efrem leans forward, “did you falsify the report?”

“No, sir,” Corvin replies without hesitation.

Liar!

I’m seething, barely hearing Efrem ask, “Subject Alaki Bea X, is the General telling the truth?”

“No,” I spit out.

Corvin’s head whips around, his glare promising retribution.

Do it. Show the world the monster you hide behind that mask, coward.

“Efrem,” another Ringleader cuts in, “Talos men are men of integrity. If the General says the report is true, then it’s true.”

I can’t sit in silence any longer. I snap, my hands balled into fists, my body trembling with rage. “He and his friends beat me half to death. He’s lying!”

“Silence!” the Arbiter roars, my body jolting. “You speak only when addressed!”

Oh, fuck you too.

You think that 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.

They can do whatever they want, say whatever they want, and because I’m not like them, they can get away with it. My word means nothing because I am nothing.

Tears sting my eyes, my ears ringing with a numbness that’s suddenly pierced by Deonta’e’s voice. “General,” he says, his tone sharp, “should you find yourself with another Subject X in custody, instruct your men to handle the situation with care. This is unacceptable.”

“Yes sir,” Corvin acknowledges, his eyes meeting mine for a moment. The look he gives me, filled with a cruel promise, makes my skin crawl as he steps away, moving to stand at the corner of the courtroom.

“If that is all,” the Arbiter says, his voice grating on my nerves, “then we shall begin the decision process.”

Decision process?

My stomach churns, a sickening feeling washing over me. Whatever this is, I know it can’t be good.

The Arbiter explains the procedure, his words washing over me in a haze of legal jargon. But one phrase cuts through the fog: “execution is recommended for the sake of the safety of our system.”

My heart plummets.

This is it. This is how I die.

“Master Haden Marie Talos,” the Arbiter calls, “please stand.”

I watch as the Talos Ringleader rises, his neatly combed blond hair gleaming under the harsh lights. He doesn’t even look at me as the Arbiter asks for his decision.

“Immediate execution,” Haden states, his voice devoid of emotion.

I’m not surprised, but the casual way he dismisses my life sends a chill through me.

“Master Efrem Mustafin, please stand.”

As Efrem rises, my mind races.

Was it really him at the store? Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he do anything? He saw me. I know he did.

“What is your decision?” the Arbiter asks.

Efrem’s response hits me like a physical blow, stalling the breath in my lungs. “I vote to keep her as my own.”

My eyes widen in shock.

Keep me? What does that even mean?

The room erupts in chaos. The Arbiter’s mouth hangs wide, his composure shattered. Haden leaps to his feet, his face contorted with rage.

“What?!” Haden roars, slamming his fist on the bench. “Efrem, have you lost your mind? She’s a half-blood, a threat to the very foundation of this country!”

Murmurs ripple through the room. I can feel the weight of disgusted stares, the air thick with tension and disbelief.

Efrem stands firm, his voice steady. “My decision is final.”

The Arbiter, visibly shaken, fumbles with his papers. “Master Efrem, surely you can’t mean… This is unprecedented. The law clearly states—”

“I’m well aware of the law. I’m one of its authors,” Efrem cuts him off. It’s evident on his face that he’s not happy with his decision being questioned, but he maintains his composure like a gentleman. “Miss Alaki’s blood is one-third mine. I am within my right to request sole ownership of her, per the law. I stand by my decision.”

Ownership..?

The Arbiter looks desperately to the other Ringleaders, seeking support or guidance. Finding none, he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

“I… I suppose we must… proceed,” he stammers, his earlier confidence evaporated. He takes a deep breath, clearly struggling to regain his composure. “Master Deonta’e Lee Diallo,” he finally manages, his voice strained, “please stand.”

The room falls into an uneasy silence as Deonta’e rises. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure everyone can hear it.

This is it. My fate is in this man’s hands.

Deonta’e’s eyes meet mine for a brief moment before he turns to the Arbiter. The silence stretches, each second an eternity.

“What is your decision?” The Arbiter asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Deonta’e clears his throat. I hold my breath, my entire body rigid with fear and anticipation.

“If Efrem agrees to take full responsibility for her,” Deonta’e begins, his words measured and careful, “I have no objections. My vote goes to him.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. My mind is reeling, too many questions running through it to focus on a single thought.

Haden’s face turns an alarming shade of red, but he swallows it. The decision’s been made. It’s done. It’s over.

There is a moment of utter silence in the courtroom, but it’s then broken when the Arbiter concludes, “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. Paperwork will be processed and you will receive title of the Subject within the next twenty-one days. This case has been closed.”

Property..?

The sound of the gavel slamming into the block sounds like a fatal gunshot. My lungs have constricted and I can’t find the strength to take a breath of air.

What does this mean..? He… owns me?