THE LAST BORN

F I F T E E N

The hall is full of people. In total there are two hundred and seventeen. Some of the adults are not present as this ship doesn't have an autopilot function and somebody has to watch for the children.

The room is quiet as soon as Malcolm walks in. His heavy steps don't slow down or deter in any way. His shoulder is back, with his face still as emotionless as his heart, and there is no fear anyone can see from his eye. People parted as he walks to the center of the hall.

Jamal walks forward as soon as Malcolm takes his place right in the center. His advisor is stalling, still trying to give his leader time to tell them that he will only take a dozen whipped instead of hundreds. 

When nothing comes out of Malcolm's mouth, Jamal sighs loudly and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "We all gather here..." He starts talking looking down to the floor. "To witness Malcolm Reye's—" Jamal stops and looks to his leader. "Are you su—"

"Continue," He commands.

The older-looking man looks up and exhales. "To witness Malcolm's Reye's retribution for his crime." He finally finished his sentence. "All adults here are obligated to take their part of this criminal's retribution. Let it be his first, and last one."

A bulky man comes forward and Malcolm starts to take off his clothes. First his jacket, he throws it on the floor next to him, and then he pulls his t-shirt with one smooth movement, showing the line where his enhanced arms and shoulder meet the human part of his chest. All his scars, all the imperfections that are part of him are on display for everyone to see.

Tension is thick in the room. People are holding their breath and looking down, unable to look at their leader preparing to get his punishment done. Some of them are still hoping that he will somehow use his power to cut his punishment by at least half.

But judging from the look on his face, they all realize that it won't happen.

So as he is bare from waist up, he goes down on his knees with a loud thud making some people jolt from the sudden noise filling the otherwise silent room. They all are looking in sadness and fear as their leader kneeling before them. The bulky guy moves closer with unsteady steps and gives Jamal a short, dark brown stick.

"I don't thi—" He begins to say.

"Do it." Malcolm cuts him.

Jamal swallows hard and again squeezes his eyes shut. There is a long, intense pause where everyone seems to engulf in suspense as they hold their breath in. Inside Jamal is cursing Malcolm's hard-headed attitude.

Jamal moves his hand in a swift motion and a long light appears from one end of the stick, the movement is fluid as the bright red light follows the movement of the stick.

"I'm sorry," Jamal whispers follow by a loud sizzling sound cutting the air before cutting flesh. Malcolm's jaw clenches, the only sign that he feels anything. Jamal immediately drops the stick and the light disappears as soon as it's unsupported. Jamal takes his time to also kneel beside his leader with his head bowed low, clearly upset with his what he did.

"Damn you, Malcolm, none of us wants to do it, you could have set a limit on how many lashes you will get, damn you," Jamal whispers for Malcolm's ears only. It takes Jamal a while before he can gather himself and stand up.

"Next!" Malcolm's voice rings, startling everyone in the room.

Jamal sighs and walks away slowly before he passes the cringing crowd without looking back to the soon-to-be-to-bloody scene. 

***

ANA

I run as fast as my legs can take me, once in a while I can hear encouraging shouts from somebody in the background, trying to motivate me to push myself harder.

Please don't tell me I'm too late!

Suddenly Nirvana feels like it gains twice its size and I can't run fast enough to reach my destination. My mind is dreading the worst, how many whips has he got? How badly is he wounded?

"Faster Noir!" I hear a voice from behind and I move my legs harder.

Finally, I see the familiar door and push it open. I can see a man, who usually works with me in the greenhouse walking to him. My eyes widen seeing him kneeling on the floor, baring his back with hardness in his eye, and I know, I just know, he is holding his pain.

I run forward not caring that I hit, and push people out of my way. The scene from my nightmare replayed in my head my heart beats even quicker. I can see the man gets a hold of the whip and pull his arm backward ready to lash it to his back.

So I jump forward.

I think I see his eye widen in surprise but I'm not sure as I quickly turn my head away, not wanting to witness the exact moment the whip will touch me. I can feel the tip of the lash hit my bicep and I swallow the painful cry that almost comes out of my lips. The moment the pain flare to the rest of my body, I feel as if my body is being pushed away. Two hands gripping me too tightly for my comfort, especially as the fingers touch where the whip burnt my skin open.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

My face finds the source of the outburst in instant. Never, have I ever been scared of him like I'm now.

His eye has turned hard and impossibly cold. His face is set in a look that is beyond furious. Eyebrows frowned so deep making his face looks older. His jaw is clenched tightly but his lips are pulled open showing how hard is he grinding his molars. The skin on his face and neck turned red with anger and I can see his vein on his forehead, to his jaw, down to his neck showing, pulsing, pumping hot fury to his brain, and fueling his wrath.

He stands up and pulls the whip out of the man's grasp with his metal hand and immediately the light disappears. I look at his metal hand and see how some part of it is melted slightly and leaving a permanent dent on his palm. And he was taking already a handful of that on his bareback?

I gasp and reach for his shoulder, trying to turn him around so I can see how badly his wound is. But instead of that, he stands up and pulls me to his chest, with the utmost care and the lightest touch, he lift my left arm. I wince from the pain I forgot I have. I can feel him staring at my wound, he is looking at my blood seeping out while his face keeps changing from anger, and desperation.

"Why the fuck has nobody stopped her from being hurt?!" He shouts again to the people watching us. "Why all you just to stand there do absolutely fucking nothing?! Do you want to see her got whipped?!" he shouts again angry with the crowd.

"I lead warriors! Not fucking bunch of idiots!" His nose flared in anger as he takes a good look at each and everyone's face, then, to my horror, he looks at me. "Are you fucking stupid?! What the fuck were you trying to do?! Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous that stunt was?! Look what you fucking did to yourself!"

I have never been so happy to be yelled at.

He is fine.

Thank the universe he is fine. I shiver with relief and rest my pounding head to his chest. I let out a long breath and sniffle as I feel like my chest going to burst from all the anticipation and the fear of the worst. It's okay, it's alright now, he is fine.

I feel two arms cocoon me in a strong, and warm embrace I almost melt inside his hug. He nearly squeezes my lungs out of my nose with one arm going under my left arm so he won't touch my wound. At this moment I don't care about the hot searing pain on my arm, this proves to me that I wasn't too late and that he is fine. This means he is still here with his people, with this ship. He is still here with me.