Unspoken

~ Prologue ~

      No matter how hard you try, you can't erase the past. It's a hard truth that's been drilled into me since childhood. All you can do is move forward and do better in the future, but how can that be possible when every choice and every future has been ripped away from you?
      My parents named me Nevaeh Jay Williams, and I'd turned eighteen two weeks ago, on the third of November. I was officially an adult, but there were no choices open to me anymore. There never will be again. I thought numbly as tears pricked in my eyes.
      I would never go to the college in Central City like many of the people I'd known growing up. I'd never get a job. I would never marry. And any children I had would be given immediately to the New Society, and then sent to the nursery in the Institution. I'll never have a family again.
       I had a fairly normal childhood. My parents were loving, and I had several friends. I never sat alone at school, and I was generally very happy.
      When I was sixteen, though, everything changed. The government officials had discovered that my father was descended directly from a war criminal. This war criminal in particular, had both helped lead and fought in the final world war over 200 years ago.
The war had been nuclear, devastating the planet, and wiping out 67% of the world's human population. We were told that Earth was uninhabitable outside of the walls now.
Ten of the remaining government leaders from the winning side created our current government after the war ended. The direct descendants of these leaders were known as the founding families of the New Society. These families were the elite. They were the ones who really pulled the strings.
One elected member of each family was placed in the presidential cabinet with the president, vice president, and the president's personally chosen right hands. They voted for each law, using the rule of majority. If there were more for, than against each law, it was passed.
To punish war criminals and opposing warlords, the original founders had passed the New Society's first law. This law stated that every person with a trace of war criminal or warlord blood would be sent to the institution and trained to pleasure their future masters.
They stated their goal in this law was to repopulate Earth, and also to achieve genetic perfection. I believed there was more to it.
Because of this law, my family was persecuted and forced to run for the outside, which was located just beyond the New Society's walls. If we had made it there, we may have have gotten away from punishment entirely. My family may have survived.
      My father had once told me the air outside wasn't toxic, as we were taught in school. He firmly believed that the New Society's leaders only told us that to keep us inside the walls. And entertainers, like I had become, were merely breeding stock for the system to gather data from.
      My family and I slipped away in the dead of night, after receiving a message informing us of the connection in our DNA to a major warlord. We retreated to Cerulean City, which was the closest of eleven to the walls, and had the only gate to the farmlands. We slept during the day and traveled at night, hiding out in ditches and warehouses to avoid the Keeper's who patrolled the New Society. We scavenged food from trash bins, and avoided people at all costs, terrified of what would happen if we were caught.
      The night before we were supposed to slip through the gate, we were ambushed. We were hiding in an abandoned house on the outskirts of the city, when a swat team busted down the door.
I could remember the blood dripping down my face and neck as I stood in shock, my world thrown into chaos after they'd shot my mother. The memory was vivid, as though it had only happened yesterday. I could still hear my sister's screams, and my father's shouts as he held them off, telling us to run.
"Run for the gate. Find them. Find the rebellion," he kept shouting, over and over as they tried to restrain him. Yet, all my sister and I could do was stand in shock, frozen with icy fear.
      He fought against the keepers bravely, until one of them put him in a choke hold. The sound of his neck snapping haunted my dreams. All of it did. I was trapped in an eternal nightmare, reliving my family's slaughter endlessly.
       "Get the girls,"  a woman said. My sister clung to me as she screamed, trying desperately to protect me. The keepers descended on us like demons from hell, as she shoved me towards the knee-high window.
     "Nevaeh," she shouted as I fell outside. "Go. Don't look back. Go!"
      I shouldn't have looked back. I should have run. But, I did turn back. I didn't want to leave her behind. I spun back around to see them hit her over the head with a gun. I watched her fall limply to the ground, bleeding heavily.
Fear and nausea rippled through me as I stared at her body. They checked her pulse before moving in on me. I stumbled as I tried to run, falling backwards onto the ground. My wrist burned with pain, likely sprained as I struggled to move.
I scrambled backwards, smacking my head so hard against a tree that I had thought I was certainly bleeding. I was dizzy, and my vision was blurred, but I continued to fight.
       Hands suddenly gripped my arms, pinning me in the grass face down. I screamed, disoriented and terrified as I struggled and fought against whoever was holding me down. Then, a needle jammed in my arm and everything went black.
        Is my sister dead? I had frequently wondered this since that day two years ago. For a long time, I hadn't believed she was, but I was starting to doubt now. Two years to the day. And I haven't seen her. Shouldn't she have been in the same program as me?
      I leaned back against the dirty stone wall, ignoring the whimpers and sobs of the other girls around me. There were boys too, but they all stayed quiet, putting on brave faces. I only recognized the girl next to me.
       Why are they doing this to us?
      It was a stupid question. I knew the answer. It was because of our family. It was because we were considered criminals for our ancestor's crimes. How idiotic. I couldn't help but think.
        I sighed, burying my face in my knees. All entertainers were placed into the institution at birth. Most of them never knew their parents, or their possible siblings. Many didn't even have last names.
They weren't given their main training until after their 16th birthday. Until then, they were simply educated about the New Society. I was a rare exception-and a very unexpected one.
Somehow, the electronic system the New Society used to track data on its citizens had failed to detect the very faint connection in my family. And now I, as an entertainer, didn't count as a person-let alone a citizen-in the New Society's system.
       Citizens and Entertainers were required to submit a blood, tissue, urine, and saliva sample every three months. These samples were analyzed and put through the electronic system called MARIA, or Machine Automated Record of Information and Analyzation. It stored data, and unthreaded our DNA. It supposedly searched for ways to perfect things by building internal worlds and experimenting in 3D platforms.
These experiments were analyzed by scientists, and if properly effective after hundreds of trials, they were done to a select group of volunteer citizens. Using this method, they'd greatly improved the medical, electronic, and agricultural fields, along with several others.
       The New Society's leaders claimed that absolute perfection was their only goal. They claimed that this research is why they were able to cure most disabilities, diseases, and illnesses such as aids, epilepsy, cancer, scoliosis, autism, down syndrome, and MS.
They had also been able to form the protective electronic dome over the society, keeping out the toxins of the outside. You wouldn't see the barrier unless MARIA malfunctioned, which was very rare. Only then, could you see the real sky.
This hadn't happened in my lifetime, and though the dome still allowed clouds to form within the barrier, and seasons to change, what we experienced here was controlled and nothing like the wild storms outside. At least, that's what we're taught in school. We're supposed to be safe. It's bullshit.
My father thought they used the samples and MARIA to keep us-at least a part of us- prisoner in their system.  Maybe he was right. I wanted to cry. This wasn't the life I wanted. Not at all.
      Those stupid samples were the reason I was here, in this living nightmare, waiting for my turn to be sold to someone who would use my body for whatever they wanted to. The only thing they were not allowed to do was kill me. I was expected to be sold if I was in any way inconvenient for my master. I felt sick just thinking about it. We give them everything so that we can live. A life without freedom, though, isn't a life I want. It would be better if they just killed us.
      Those of us who were unwanted or unsellable were put to work in the more dangerous and difficult jobs needed by the society. People never lived long in those assignments. They were treated badly, and they were essentially labor slaves. They were underfed, and they were never given enough rest. They were also never given any kind of medical care when they were sick or injured.
      "Number 57," a voice called out, harsh and demanding. I turned to look in it's direction, brought back to the presence. The girl next to me stood, and they stripped her roughly. Her skin was dirty, and covered in bloody wounds and deep bruises like mine. It was dry and paled from lack of sunlight.
I knew her very well. She'd been a part of the same institution program as me, and we'd been bunk mates with two others.
Last month, three others, only 13, 14, and 15, were admitted into the program. I never learned their names, but it was obvious that they were brothers. They would all be torn away from each other, one by one as they turned eighteen.
My stomach twisted as I wondered why my own sibling and I had been separated prematurely. Surely, had she survived, she would have been at the institution with me. Surely, she must be out there somewhere. Even if she is dead.
The New Society claimed god, heaven, and hell were fantasy. Yet, there were some who still believed. I didn't know where I stood on that front. I suppose I believed in the possibility of otherness, but I didn't care to take it any further.
      Two keepers bound the girl's red-ringed wrists with a rope as she sobbed. I was unable to do any thing to help, so I only watched with the others as they pushed her towards the auctioneer. He pulled her on stage roughly, though she stumbled and faltered, scraping her shin badly on the wooden steps. Blood dripped down her leg as she disappeared through the red and black curtains.
      I squoze my eyes shut tightly. First chance I get, I'll escape. I will not live as someone's slave. I'll do my best, but if I fail, I'll end it. I'll end my life. This thought  almost comforted me as I waited for my turn. No matter what they do, they can't take away my thoughts. Those will always belong to me.
        A few minutes later, they called out my number, and I stood. My legs were shaking as they yanked my ragged white robe off of my body and bound my wrists. I walked forward before they could shove me, knowing I would fall if they did. They'd yank me to my feet, and then if likely get a quick beating.
      I couldn't help but hesitate at the stage.  Terror rippled through me, and I couldn't breathe. I felt dizzy and terrified. Drops of blood on the floor caught my attention as I moved up the short steps, making me sway as though I would faint.
The auctioneer grabbed my arm roughly, digging his jagged and sharp nails into my skin as he pulled me into the spotlight. I felt subconscious, standing shivering and naked in front of a large crowd. Hundreds of eyes were watching me, and everyone was murmuring. The room was cold.
I fidgeted, rubbing my wrists raw as the audience took me in. The room was swimming, and my knees were weak.
      "She's got a decent bust," one man in the front murmured to a friend. "I'd guess a 32 DD."
     "I don't have a thing for blondes," another said.
"She's got a nice face," I heard another say. Classy music was playing in the background, but it was hard to pick out from the excited chatter.
"Look at that tight ass," a fourth said. All the voices were overwhelming, and I was seriously starting to think I would pass out.
"I could live with that," another said.
     "First bid begins at $200,000," the auctioneer began, pulling their attention to him. "This ones special. She's one of our rare virgin flowers."
      "$250,000," someone called, raising the price.
      "$300,000," another shouted as the auctioneer called for bids.
"$400,000," a third yelled.
      I was popular. The bid rose to almost a million before the room began to quiet. It could have only been a few minutes, but it felt like hours. It's because I'm a virgin. I thought wryly. They're all predators waiting to pounce on their prey. And I'm out in the open with nowhere to run. It's time to go in for the kill. Which one of you will take the only physical part of me left?
      "One million," an old, balding man called out. The room went silent, and the wrinkled man grinned up at me. Chills ran over my skin and I shrunk back in fear. Oh god, no.
      "One million. Anyone else? Going in three, two-" the auctioneer began to count down, and I squoze my eyes shut in horror.
      "Two million," a low, smooth voice called out. Everyone in the room quieted again and looked at the man who'd spoken. So did I, though it was hard to focus. The room seemed to slow down as I met his dark eyes.
      He was tall, with messy dark hair. His skin was golden and tanned, and he was clearly much younger than anyone else in the room. He had a defined jaw, and almost full lips, though the bottom was slightly heavier.
      "Three million," the old man grimaced in irritation as he stared at the young man.
      "Five million," the younger said, and the old man frowned.
"Seven," the old man replied. It was between the two of them, now. My fate is in your hands.
"Ten," the younger raised the price again. The crowd was shocked, whispering in excitement. This was almost unprecedented. Not many were willing to pay that much for us.
"I give," the old man said, glaring at the younger suspiciously.
      "Ten million, everyone. And number 58 is sold to the noble and esteemed Mr. Ivanov. Come back stage when ever you're ready to collect your new entertainer, sir," The auctioneer was baffled.
Entertainer. The word swam through my mind. It's what we sex-slaves were called. It sounded less horrible than concubine or harlot, but there was really no difference. This is sick and twisted. How can someone want to do this to us?
      I was soon pulled back stage, again- back into the darkness. My heart was pounding in my chest as they slipped a simple and clean black robe over me. I was shaking with terror and tears threatened to spill over. I will not let them see me cry. They can not break me. Just my thoughts could get me killed, if anyone else could hear them. These thoughts are dangerous, but I've been playing with fire my whole life. If I die, I'll die as myself. Not one of your puppets.
A keeper gripped my arm roughly and forced me to my knees beside the other black-robed entertainers. I took a deep, shaky breath, preparing to wait for an unknown future. The cards are in your hands. Take your turn. But you'll never win.