Page 45 of Beta Lies and Cursed Lives
“I’m sorry.”
The Omega begins to glow from the inside, so bright her bones appear as shadows beneath her skin. A scream rings throughout the room for a fraction of a second before her entire body is consumed by flame, a white hot blaze from within, a pile of ash left in its wake.
Dead. All four of these Cursed—people that, if pressed, I couldn’t tell you their names or if I even had a class with them in the ten years I’d been in the system—are dead. A pack, like mine, snuffed out just for existing. Maybe for knowing too much. Definitely for procreating.
Konstantin returns to his spot among the other soldiers, and Ivanov turns to look over the silent crowd. I know we’re all in shock because of the lack of thoughts all around me, even when I concentrate and try to pick them up.
“I trust you all understand what happens to those who break our laws.” His arms spread, commanding us all to look at the consequences. “I will report to the Council, and we will make changes here. Prepare yourselves.”
Ivanov snaps his fingers, and the lineup of soldiers swiftly escorts him out of the building, leaving behind the massacre.
No one moves for the longest time, and then some begin to rise and leave, and thoughts pick back up again. Rage. Fear. Disbelief. Loathing. And in the midst of all that, one internal voice stands out and invades my mind.
Something taps my shoulder in time with a repetitive thought.
“The rebellion is real. The rebellion is real. The rebellion is real.”
My head snaps in the voice’s direction.Laurant.He stares straight at me, pale as paper, eyes like saucers.
“Find them.”
How the fuck am I supposed to do that?
Aubrey
“I’m sorry about this, Modumo.” Those were the only words Lieutenant Yarr said to me this morning. He then escorted me, and about ten other Cursed, to Training Ground Five, a vast indoor facility I’d only been in a couple of times before.
Our instructions, given by a man in a lab coat, were to sit on the bleachers and await further instructions.
Some of the expressions displayed on the other Cursed’s faces are fearful, some are confused, others resigned. I’d like to think I’m still the stoic man I was yesterday, but the discomfort of fear grows in my chest, and I’m sure it can be seen in my eyes.
The building’s interior reminds me of the gymnasium at my old elementary school: Bleachers covering two of the four walls, the floor between so polished, people’s shoes squeak when they cross it. The lighting is dim, and it’s difficult to see in the corners, but I feel people there. Their eyes watching.
At the center of the floor is a raised platform. Some of the soldiers wheel in an array of objects and set them up on either side of the stage, and I know that my fear is warranted.
I’m here to be sold.
They want to take me from my friends. From...Miranda.
The beautiful woman had stolen my heart before I realized it. Now all I can do is sit here, waiting to find out where I will be sent to die, wondering why I’d bothered to keep away from Miranda. Why I’d denied the pack I know to be mine.
Why did I try so hard to get them to hate me if I’m just going to be sent to my death on some battlefield far away? I could have been happy, if just for a little while.
There’s movement inside my chest, restless and angry, a growl forming that I force into silence.
These people can’t know how I feel. I have to remain indifferent. Go along with the motions. And then…
...What?
And then I’ll get sold off to the highest bidder and sent to whichever territory they hail from.
And then, maybe one day, I’ll see them again. Colt. Rai. Miranda.
Maybe I’ll get to embrace them before we kill one another in the name of a war we should have no part in.
For hours, we sit there in silence before a name is called, far louder than necessary.
“Burr, Jason.”
