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.