There now exists a world where the colour of your blood defines you; and there certainly isn't much room for different in the year 2138.
Suki Kione has known for a long time now that there's a clock on her life, one that runs a lot quicker than that...
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To most of you ... whoever you are, whenever you are, the blood that flows through your veins means you are human. It means you belong, that you have a clan that accepts you and calls you one of their own. For me, the substance that flows through me means death.
On the outside I'm just like anybody else, a few defining features, a facial structure that strongly resembles that of other Homo sapiens and for the most part, my insides pretty much follow the status quo of what it takes to be human.
There's just one problem; when I bleed ... a trickle of red drips out.
I guess that wouldn't be a bad thing had this been literally any period before the adaptation, but since 2028 a lot has changed. In this day and age red means bad. Red means you're not good enough.
Bleeding red means you overcame the 1% chance of being born that way and now have a 100% chance of winding up dead; especially in an era where the majority of the human race hasn't bled red for eons. I guess you could say that black is in now.
In other words ... happy dying!
Being what I am ... a Pukka —an original— has made me a well-kept secret from the moment I first bled. It's made my life within the Ring even more difficult than it needs to be and has kept me, (a girl with the sort of attitude that would render one born to stand out,) obedient.
The persona I display in my every waking moment is well practiced so as not to drag attention to myself, an act I will likely have to keep up for as long as I value the ability to breathe. I must remain vigilant at all times, and at the very top of that list, safe. And that's not only for myself, but for my Kru too.
The crimes my mother and those in my Division who know of my condition have committed in their quest to keep me just that, are ones that would cost us everything and part of me believes that the 'not being able to breathe for the rest of eternity' isn't the worst of it.
"Suki," my mother's voice beckons, wrenching me from my thoughts.
I pull my hand away from the sleek piece of lightweight metal in front of me, the board giving a healthy whir of excellence before it powers down and lowers itself gently to the wooden floor.
"Come on Suki, when are you going to stop fooling around with that thing?" she queries, her figure assuming its regular position slouched against my bedroom door.
Her slightly defined arms curl around her chest, hinting at a time in which my mother must've been a lot more active than she is now.
Doing what? I don't know. There's a lot I don't know actually ... and I seem to understand that more and more every day.
I follow along her torso and zero in on her profile, one of her defiant brows still arched in question. The curly locks on her scalp are braided into two neat Dutch braids, splitting her hair down the middle.
