Page 16 of Omega on Fire
"You'll see." Scar-neck pulls me around a corner, through a door that requires a keycard. Three beeps and a green light. I have taken a mental note.
We enter a different section. Its hallways are cleaner, brighter, with paint on walls instead of exposed concrete. This isn't a prison cell block, this looks almost administrative. I catalogue everything, noting two additional key-carded doors, a stairwell, and what looks like a security office with monitors glowing through glass walls.
They stop me before a wooden door—actual wood, not metal. It's jarring, this sudden shift to normality.
"Remember," Scar-neck breathes into my ear, his scent making me gag, "you are merchandise. Valuable merchandise, but with the price on your head, they'll buy you broken, so fucking behave."
I hit the chair hard, my body still so sore that the impact sends fresh pain tingling through my limbs. The conference room is surreal in its normality—polished table, ergonomic chairs, even a potted plantin the corner catching light from a window with actual blinds. For a moment, the sharp contrast between this corporate setting and the horror of my cell makes me wonder if I've gone mad.
"Sit," one of the guards barks, though I'm already down.
They move to stand at the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me but minds elsewhere. I glance around, taking inventory. No visible cameras, though I assume they're there. No weapons within reach. Just me in a flimsy dress, and what looks like a round speaker sitting in the center of the table like a bizarre centerpiece.
It crackles to life without warning.
"Charlotte Matthews." The voice is deep and masculine, educated, a man of means I assume. “How the mighty have fallen."
I straighten my spine despite the pain. "Who am I speaking to?"
A chuckle emanates from the device. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Senator Justus Blaine, at your service."
The name hits me like a physical blow. Blaine. The man who's fought against every piece of Omega protection legislation I've advocated for. The manwho called me "an unfortunate anomaly in the natural order" during a live debate.
"Surprised?" The distorted voice continues. "Don't be. You've been a thorn in my side for years, Ms. Matthews. Your tiresome crusade for Omega rights has complicated matters for people who understand the natural order far better than you."
"Natural order?" I spit the words. "Is this what you call natural? Kidnapping? Rape? Selling human beings?"
"Correction, the selling of Omegas. And yes, this is precisely the natural order. Alphas lead, Betas serve, and Omegas, well, Omegas provide service and children. It's simple biology that your generation has complicated with needless sentimentality."
My hands curl into fists beneath the table. "You think you can get away with this Senator? I know people have noticed my absence from the public eye. They'll?—"
"They'll what? Launch investigations that go nowhere? Shed tears on television? Mercy Smooth will rally the troops, stage a protest?" The voice drops even lower. "By the time anyone connects the dots, you'll be property, broken and bred until that fiery spirit is nothing but a memory."
I feel cold sweat breaking out across my skin. "The Foundation?—”
"The Have Faith Foundation will continue its little charity work, minus its most vocal advocate." There's a smile in his voice now. "In fact, your disappearance will work in our favor. One more missing Omega statistic, proof that these 'safe cities' are a dangerous fantasy. More reasons for protective legislation, well the kind of protective legislation that will benefit my invested parties."
My mind races, cataloging the implications. Breath leaves my lungs because it all becomes clear. The kidnappings aren’t just about profit, they are about control. Terrorize Omegas, make them fearful, instill doubt into our supporters. To finish it off, to really hammer it all home, push through new laws that strip away what little freedom we have left.
“You’re staging a crisis to justify oppression,” I whisper, rage and horror coiling together in my chest.
“Staging?” Blaine tuts. “No, Charlotte. I’m merely capitalizing on the inevitable. And thanks to your disappearance, my newest bill is on the Senate floor right now.”
God!
“I’ll expose you,” I promise, voice shaking with fury. “I don’t care where you send me. I’ll fight. I’ll burn your entire fucking operation down.”
“You’re welcome to try,” he says, utterly unbothered. “But by tomorrow, you’ll belong to someone else. You're being auctioned tonight, Ms. Matthews. Quite the bidding war is brewing, I understand. Prominent activists make for excellent exotic pets, especially ones as recognizable as yourself."
The walls seem to close in around me. Tonight. Hours, not days. Everything I whispered to Reya and Patrick, the hope I tried to give them was meaningless. There won't be time for planning, for gathering information, for resistance.
"Nothing to say? How disappointing. I expected more fight from the woman who once called me 'a relic of oppression in a three-thousand-dollar suit'."
“Fuck you.” My voice shakes with fury. “I am not a fucking pet.”
“You say that now.” The satisfaction in his tone makes my blood boil. “In time, you’ll be grateful for your place. They all are.”
I force words through numb lips. "You're making a mistake."
