The Alphas

Jamaa was a booming medicational city, goods were exported all over the world; all with the help of our Alphas.

They were our gods, we never questioned them because all of them were role-models. They kept us fed and they helped put criminals in jail and bring the weak to justice. Of course we loved them, they kept the corrupt from harming us. We all assumed being an Alpha was hard work, arresting so many, yet we wanted to meet them, *be them.*

 Then the murders stared, animals and citizens all going missing, nobody knew what happened to them. We were all left in the dark, even our Alphas couldn't say anything, they never told us *anything.*

*Trends*, goods became even better in the bustling community of Jamaa, medicines and fashion being mass-produced even better than before, all thanks to the Alphas, no longer did we pay attention to the growing murders, we had better things. *'What was the use of being pessimistic when everything is fine?'* ***they*** always told us. But I, I was concerned. And I had others.

Our band was a small, underground community of former gangsters of mobsters, reformed and seeking justice. We knew it was sketchy, all of Jamaa was under the grasp of these these '*ethereal gods.'* We knew.

I started working at the Alpha HQ in 1997, a managing director of goods and medicines. I was always against these higher ups, *Alphas*, informing me of what *I* should produce. For why should I cower under these bougauise aristocrats? I didn't share their caution.

*But they knew, oh, they were not happy with our rag-tag gang of nobodies.*

On March 10th, 1999, I was called into a D floor office by Liza, the head of all Alphas. I entered the room, even though I didn't agree with those snobs that called themselves greater than us, I had a great deal of respect for their grasp on the city and it's citizens.

*It was pitch black, all lights were off.* This meeting was after hours, so I was understandably quite suspicious. There was no sound, *nothing.*

***The lights were turned on,*** there stood Liza and Sir. Gilbert; they were hiding something behind them. *"Show him Gilbert."* I saw the panda smirk as she muttered this. The hulking tiger moved aside, and there it was.

*My daughter, sweet little Nebula, all tied up and wounded on a rickety chair.* I stood, frozen in horror, as my girl was taped at the mouth, struggling against steal plates. ***"You- you fox-hearts!"*** I finally managed to yell out of my utter disbelief, as I grabbed a sword and began to hold if defensively.

***Yet Liza beat me to it.** There she stood, a great lever in her matted, blood-stained paws.*

***"As a leader, I shall do ANYTHING to uphold my grasp over this pitiful town. I do not have mercy for the weak."***

And with that, *she pulled the lever.*

I cried, pushing past the brutes, as I held Nebula, her body cold and limp, still tied to the chair, as her fur was fluffed up and matted by the chair. Her eyes stayed opened, glossed over with the varnish of death, as her jaw hanged, a single droplet of scarlet dripping down her glossy lip.

***Please reader, stay alert; their adventures and rules are tricks for power. We cannot question these foul murderers, for they have a grip on the world. Now you can fathom what happens to dissapearing Jammers.***

~ story by Kremitea