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uraeus56 · 10 hours ago

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○Chemical Burn●

○Chemtrails●

Master list has all warnings. 18+

Additional warnings ⚠️: homeless population displacement by use of force. Dehumanization of people. Violence and description of victims being shot and "mercy" killings. Forced drugging of reader.

a.n: been a brick since I've done a note at the start. Please refer to the additional warnings. I've mentioned it here, but I will restate. This is a dark fic, and if you are not ready to dislike TF 141 and their actions, then this isn't for you. I switch between reader's and Kyle's pov this chapter. I know I didn't say anyone's designations yet but that will be covered next chapter. Anyway, this is 5,100 words so buckle in and I swear to God I was possessed. Enjoy!

You could barely stand the heat coursing through your body. Lazy flicks of your wrist moved your paper fan and stirred up the warm air around you. Some form of relief is granted once the ac unit kicks on and you flop back into your nest. The four days of your heat always makes you more irritable than normal, but at least it's not as bad as some of your peers. The cycle control you take makes the symptoms lessen and be more tolerable.

There's a knock at your door and you call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open and it's Avarice. He shouldn't be in your room and his presence lets you know he snuck in. Those honey brown eyes of his crinkle in the corners and he holds up a small plastic bag filled with little square butter mints. “Look what I got Sweetie.” He's quick to kick off his boots and strip out of his shirt before plopping down into your nest.

The growl you let out is soft with no real anger behind it, “You're sweaty and you smell like outside, get out of my nest.”

Your words don't deter him. Instead he removes the ribbon from the bag and pulls out a light blue mint, “I went through all the trouble to get you these dumb butter mints you like so much.”

The insides of your stomach flip at the way he presses the candy to your lips. He smells like outside, but under it is the gunpowder that clings to him for days when he gets back from his travels. Just beyond that, if you concentrate hard enough, his natural scent of the world right before it rains struggles to come through. He's intoxicating and you breathe him in deeply.

You open your mouth and the mint gets placed on your tongue and a burst of sugary happiness settles over you. It's not love, not just yet between you both, but the promise is there.

Candy is hard to come by, and he always shows his adoration to your sweet tooth.

“I'm glad to have you back. Be gone before my dad and mom find you up here.” You lay back down, and he lays next to you.

“Sweetie,” He sounds so loving as he brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, “I'm glad we don't live in the cities. But it gets harder and harder to take those types of freelance jobs out that way.”

“Why?”

“It just is, an omega boy we were tasked with tracking down, poor kid who couldn't have been older than like fourteen, escaped and when we found him he killed himself.” He sighs deeply, “They medicate them to make sure they can get pregnant on the first try and if they would rather have death-” his voice trails off when he realizes what he is saying.

“God punishes those who harm the weak.” You close your eyes, “I'm too hot and tired for this conversation Avarice. So please.”

You both don't say anything else.

○Present Day.●

The inside of the green dome is humid and clean. Gas masks aren't needed here. The ground is fertile and grass grows tall but not too tall because of the livestock kept on it. The sun beams down on your face through the glass ceiling. The dome took years to be built, it's your father's pride and joy and he built it with help from the community of different packs he oversees. He's something like the high head alpha or some sort. Everyone answers to him or who works directly under him.

This place is all you've ever known, peace, clean air, being barefoot, your manicured toes digging into the soil. You're supposed to be completing your own chores, you and your dog Sacha, sent out to the fields to gather up the sheep and bring them in. Your veil hangs loosely around you, it's the pretty light blue one that all young omegas in practice of priesthood wear. It creates a barrier between you and the prickly grass, Sacha lays his head on your stomach.

“We gotta get up at some point, Sacha.” You make no move, body heavy with tiredness from the humidity. “I wish Dad would let them turn the fans on. Hell.” You complain. Sacha only whines in agreement or what seems like agreement.

“Sweetie!” The distant call of your pet name rings through the air.

Your limbs move sluggishly as you sit up to spy your brother. He's racing towards you, riding on Dune. Anansi is a freshly presented alpha, young, spry, spirited, and to you a bit of a nuisance but everyone else calls him charismatic and boisterous. Wherever he goes, pranks usually follow and plenty of complaints from the beta population of the community. He looks like a clone of your father but with your mother's coloring, just like you. Bronze skin that is slowly but surely being covered in tattoos, his curly hair frames him like a halo and pulled out of his face. Bright brown eyes sparkling in the sun like gems, and a smile so wide it nearly splits his face in half. Dune huffs and puffs as he comes to a gradual stop and Anansi hops off of him. His respirator mask hangs loosely around his neck and he's dressed like he's ready to cause trouble.

“No.” You lay back down, “Find somebody else.” Sacha barks and gets up to sniff at him. His tail wags so hard that he vibrates all over.

“You're not even doing your chores.” His voice cracks with the last vestiges of puberty. “Sweetie, come on.” He begs.

“Why, so we both can get in trouble? Besides” you close your eyes and breathe in deep, “my coverings and black veils are on the clothesline.”

“Sweetie come on, what you got on is fine and we're only going out the dome for a trail ride.” He plops down next to you and leans in close. In the most conspiratorial way ever he snickers, “Your little boy toy is on the way back, don't you wanna meet him without Dad looking over your shoulder?”

Squinting against the sun, you think about the consequences. It won't be a far ride to meet your sweetheart. He's pretty and lean with honey brown eyes and sports a silly undercut. People call him arrogant but you think he is confident. He runs in mercenary circles outside of the dome, normally taking jobs that require tracking, he doesn't say much more about it. His pack has been integral in communications and security. The sad part is that his mother and your father don't get along very well, the two alphas butting heads on every little thing. Against your better judgment you get up and ignore the dread that tries to take hold of you.

“Fine, lemme-” You can barely agree fully before your pastel gas mask is yanked out of Anansi's bag. “You went in my room?”

“Didn't want to take more than one trip.” He whistles for Dune and the horse perks up ready to go. He digs in his bag and pulls out Dune's mask along with the one used for Sacha.

“Dad and mom are going to kill me for letting you talk me into letting us do this.” In the back of your mind though, you worry about if someone will notice you outside. You have the anatomy of a female omega, male omegas can beta pass easily with the right clothing. Your scent won't be well hidden without your full body veil but you won't be too far from the dome. Sacha sits still while you snap his mask in place and then double checking after Anansi's work on Dune, you climb on with him.

To the far far east of the dome is the entrance that leads to a back road. It's less traveled by on the account of all the vegetation that grows wildly and the woods and settlements where the diseased make their shanty town. Your mother twice a month goes out this gate with a small band of acolytes and nuns. Plenty of food that can be spared and medicines that she makes. Tonics that make dying easier from the effects of polluted air and disease. Potions that stop ruts and heats all together permanently, a rather painful process you've had to help administer. It's part of the good will and the right to live and die with humanity and dignity that the world denies them. From time to time, an emergency delivery is done on runaway betas and omegas that escape their cities. Pups can't be raised out in the open, too many crazies and pup snatchers, and gangs of roaming degenerates. Sometimes to your bewilderment they get it done and before the sun is down they are headed back to where they come from. So very much wanted and unwanted pups are done away with by your mom and the older acolytes who are just shy of priestesshood.

Nobody ever calls it what it is. It's illegal and goes against the laws.

The gate is the same glass door that opens out to a decontamination chamber. Anansi puts in the access code and it hisses open. The two door system takes a moment to spray you all down before the outer door slides open to the outside world. On the other side of the glass dome, birdsong is bright against the trees. The wind blows against your face and pushes back your veil, it makes the small bells sewn into the edge of the veil tinkle. Anansi snaps the reins and Dune is off with Sacha taking the lead.

“Avarice said before he left that some cities are seeking out shanty towns.” Anansi gives you a quick glance before looking forward again.

“Why on earth would they bother those people?” You snort, “ain't it bad enough they already suffer?”

“Word got out that some shanty towns have healthy people that run there for sanctuary.” He answers back, he sounds concerned. “I hope they don't find the one near us.”

“Maybe if you ask dad again he will let you bring that boy in.”

“Nah, that ain't the issue.” He shakes his head, his body tenses, “Caleb, he's healthy, would be good and new blood in the community, but he ain't leaving his uncle. Poor man is wasting away but he's too afraid to go on his own terms.” He's solemn but perks up, “But it's okay, I'm sure it will all work out!”

You hug your brother tightly as Dune leaps over a fallen decaying tree trunk. Your mind settles on the excitement of seeing Avarice and you ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach.

○●

Deep in the woods off the beaten path, amongst the blooming trees and grasses that are out of place is a group of poorly put together tents and shacks. The trees and greenery are an anomaly against the dry land, the grasses blend into the dry cracked earth that approaches the main road. Not much wildlife roamed here except the birds that flew overhead. Their chirps were familiar and caused a sense of nostalgia to run through Kyle's mind.

Paradise doesn't have many birds and they are always scared away when the sirens ring every hour to signal the time during daylight. The surrounding areas around Paradise barely hold fertile land and inside the walls, there's not much green space as packs exist on top of each other. So it is truly a novelty when he and his team find the location that was given to them.

The encampment itself is filled with people moving about, trying to have some semblance of a life. He feels terrible for what's about to happen as soon as Captain gives the orders. These places are illegal settlements, they can breed diseases immune to the various vaccines that have been made to combat the biological warfare side-effects of the past. It's also the perfect hiding spot for fresh blood, runaway omegas and the betas and alphas that helped them. Pups that could get snatched by bad people and indoctrinated into horrendous cults. He's seen the worst that life has to offer and sometimes, people who are scared don't know any better. There's sweat on his brow, saturating his cap, he hopes the sun won't give him weird tan lines again that follow his half mask. His vest is heavy against him, but like always he doesn't mind the weight, some crazies have fashioned strange weapons these days, most of them akin to medieval melee weapons and for some odd reason everyone fights like gorillas during Vietnam.

His earpiece crackles to life and it's the Captain, “Is everyone positioned?” He's tired, and Kyle can hear it in his voice. Underneath it is anxiousness because the team he's leading is larger than normal. It's their pack and a few others hired for this contract to hunt down this encampment. The intel of some medicine woman hiding in the sticks amongst the sick and dying is doing horrible things, makes this all the more important.

It's illegal to perform and or administer care that kills an unborn pup. There are also laws about distribution of abortifants and other poisons. It's heinous, especially during a population crisis and the tricky navigation to avoid inbreeding.

There's confirmation of positions, and Kyle lets Price know he's at the choke point. Some other mercenaries are with him, both to assist and to surveill each other. There can't be any fowl play with a potential capture this large.

This medicine woman is a known alpha female. Brown skin, large no taller than 6 '0 maybe 260 pounds. She's known to travel with a group, sometimes there are armed escorts, sometimes it's just her and her followers. The followers are usually betas and omegas, and from the intel they wear gas masks, hinting that they aren't sick or defective.

“Ya ken,” Johnny's voice comes through the earpiece, his voice is always light. “What if we don't find her? Then what?”

Kyle grunts in annoyance, “Then we left Atlas with Kate and Odette for no reason.”

“Aye, ye jus a wee bit mad that his stay with them throws him off his sleep schedule.” Johnny chuckles. This causes some other people on the frequency to laugh at this too. Just about every other person has a young pup at home from the last cycle two months ago.

“Focus.” John is stern and the levity is snuffed out instantly.

There's a moment of silence, the birds become deathly quiet and it's just the wind rustling the leaves. John gives the signal and chaos can be heard. From Kyle's position at the choke point, he can catch glimpses of people scrambling. Their surprised screams rise high above the automatic gun fire, dogs are heard barking, herding them towards his team's position. The first person through the trail, bursting through the brush is young. They are thin, sickly and starving thin. Dressed in rags, exposed skin showing lesions that seemed to be open, Kyle takes it upon himself to fire the first shot. It goes through their head and they drop to the ground.

They wouldn't have passed the initial inspection of health anyway.

He thinks it's a mercy.

○●

You and Anansi had finally come to a stop just a short way from the main road, just waiting for your sweetheart's return and chatting. Sacha sniffs around the bushes and suddenly he perks up, head pointed towards the trees. A distant gunshot can be heard and then more, all of them rapid fire. You look at your brother and he's looking in that direction too. It's coming from where the shanty town is and before you can speak sense into him, he's already mounting Dune and galloping towards stupidity.

“Anansi! Wait!” You run after him. Panic grips your heart and lungs. He won't want to rest until he has his friend with him. “Anansi you idiot! Fucking wait!” It's an anxious feeling that claws at you. Terror because you never should have let him convince you to leave the safety of the Pink House and its glass dome.

Your mask makes it hard to breathe as you race through the trails. Blood rushing in your ears from the sheer adrenaline, it's distant but you can hear Sacha barking as he speeds ahead of you. Then the screams, the horrible screams that cut through the sounds of gunfire. You don't stop and push through the strain of pumping your legs, the tinkling of your veil is faint and all you can think is-

‘I shouldn't have left the dome!’ On repeat.

There is a distressed shout and the neighs of Dune, who sounds panicked. The sight that greets you when you finally break through the tree line makes your blood freeze. There are bodies bloodied and beaten, people in all black apprehending the very people you and your community have grown to care for. It's like watching a living nightmare in real-time. The only thing that breaks you out of your trance is the sound of Anansi's scream, you're moving before you know it. Dodging and jumping over bodies that resist and escape in the opposite direction. In your peripheral an arm snaps out, yanking you behind a shack. Your fists lash out, swinging blindly, but you're held still and against the side of the shack.

“Sweetie!” The scent of outside, gunpowder, and as always just under that the scent of the world before it rains while faint, stops your frantic struggle. Avarice has his respirator on, his eyes filled with fear and worry. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” He hisses and pulls you close to him, just as the heavily armed men run past the opening to where you both hide.

“We were waiting for you by the main road. We gotta find Anansi and get out of here!” The whole of you shakes uncontrollably. There's tightness in your chest.

“You gotta get out of here, I'll find him, get out of here and hide Sweetie.” He looks over your shoulder and then presses his hunting knife into your hand. “Don't look back. Keep going.”

“We gotta get Anansi! I can't leave hi-” He cuts you off by shoving you forward.

“I'll find him! Go!” He shouts over the chaos.

You take off running, following the panic towards the tree line. There's barking and out of the corner of your eye you spot it, a dog with a gas mask, with skull painted over it. It charges for you, direct line of sight. The ground is hard when you land face first. You've tripped over your skirt and your veil begins to slip free of your hair. Scrambling up, you push forward, the dog closing in on you. You've lost your brother, your family horse and your dog. Avarice is still in the chaos helping people escape and you pray he makes it out.

Pain is a funny thing. Your mother teaches that physical sensations remind the flesh and body that it's alive. Pain, pleasure, discomfort, ease, all of it keeps the body alive. So when fire shoots up your leg and through your side the first thing you think of is dying. The shock paralyzes you and before you can scramble back up a knee gets pressed into your back. Your veil slips from your head as you thrash about. You can't thrash hard enough, there isn't enough air circulating through the mask and the urge to wiggle it off is strong, but you don't.

“This one checks the initial inspection sir.” A man speaks.

“Get off me you sick fucks!” You scream and kick your legs, making the pain worse.

“It's a female, looks healthy, drag her to the keep pile.” You don't see who is speaking and through the thrashing both arms are seized and zip tied at the wrist. Your skirts are dirtied as you're tugged from the path and you get your first real look at the scene. People lay in the dirt dying or dead. Blood turns the dirt muddy, blood trails that lead in different directions. The man drops you next to other hostages that you recognize. All of them omegas and betas that had made their home in this shanty town, people you have treated.

There's another wave of screaming and gunshots to be heard, and that's when you see it, how they are clearing the area. Chasing terrified and sick people into their trap, killing those who won't make the journey and those that can and will.

It goes on, this madness for what feels like ever before it all stops. The sun is setting when the last person is zip tied and the mercy callings are done.

○●

“Cap, that's the last one. This choke point is cleared up. Fifteen headcount to take back to the city for medical attention.” Kyle stands in the middle of the trail overseeing his team collecting the dead. He tries to ignore the sobbing of the fifteen people who are healthy enough to be let into the city. He knows deep down that this is the right thing to do, but the initial feelings give him pause. In the long run, these people will thank them, thank them for getting them back to safety and in their right mind.

“Four on mah end Cap!” Johnny chirps, “Three if the one coughing is hacking up a lung from illness and not dust.”

“The area is clear.” Simon radios in.

John takes a moment before his voice crackles over the radio, “Good, let's get this all wrapped up. I don't want to be out in the open longer than needed.”

Kyle walks the trail, looking at the dead and he stops right in front of a pile of dirty fabric. It's blue and has bells sewn on it. It's too fancy to belong to any of the people that lived in the encampment. He picks it up and holds the soft slippery fabric between gloved fingers. A quick scan to make sure he isn't being watched too closely, and he then presses it up close to where his mask arches over nose. It's faint but he smells the scent of an omega just under the reeking stench of fear and panic. The lingering light balm of delicate flowers, he can't place it, his nose isn't as sensitive as Simon's. A memory is tickled in the back of his mind by the scent, warmth, laughter, scratches and heavy breathing. He sees her in his mind, bright and feisty, a bit of a trouble maker, most importantly she's alive.

She's not as he last saw her, scared, shivering, calling for her mother, slapping his touch away, crying for death.

“Uh Garrick sir?” A no name youngster brings him from his memory. Kyle glances over his shoulder and balls up the fabric tightly before stuffing it in between his chest and tact vest.

“Yeah kid?”

“We did another check of the uhm…” He doesn't know what to call them. Kyle didn't know what to call them in the beginning either. He doesn't force him to classify the people and encourages him to continue with a tip of his cap. The boy straightened up and continued, “Out of the fifteen, only six are male presenting, the other nine are female presenting. Three alphas, seven betas, and five omegas, and only one of them has a face covering sir.”

He's surprised that any of them have that. In these encampments, people tend to forego basic safety. He follows the young boy back to where they are holding their detainees, yeah that sounds better he thinks. It sounds nicer and not as permanent or dehumanizing. His gaze trails over all of them, dirty and nervous, not scared, but he stops at one. She's not rail thin or sickly looking, appears to be well fed and kept up. Her gas mask is bright and colorful, charms fashioned to it like the pups at home he's seen do. She isn't dressed in gray drab rags that are falling apart. That alone makes it so that he knows she doesn't belong.

If she isn't from here…then where did she come from?

“Stand her up.” He nods to her and the young boy hurries to do as he's told. She puts up a struggle, hiss and spotting curses, but eventually she is yanked to her feet. Kyle gets close to her, she fits some of the description of the fabled medicine woman that lingers in these parts. “You're not from here are you darling?”

She doesn't speak and her breathing is labored from either pain, exhaustion, anger, or a mix of all three. Her eyes narrow in and then she turns her head away from him. He notes though, that she keeps the corner of her eye towards him, staring at his chest. Kyle follows her line of sight and sees just the corner of the fabric poking out.

He questions her quietly, trying his best to come off as nice despite how all of this may seem, “This yours?”

“Fuck you and let us go!” She doesn't hesitate to snap back.

“Darling…” He already feels a certain type of warmth in his chest. Maybe it's grief or maybe he just misses his pup's mother. His last omega snapped often, right before she bared her neck and submits to whatever he craved. Mind made up he slings his gun into a more manageable position and then hoists the woman over his shoulder. She screams and berates him, he doesn't care since it's all hot air and lip service.

“You're a brute! The second I get free I'll kill you! My alpha is nearby! He'll kill you himself the second he gets here! I'll make sure of it!” She shrieks and wiggles, trying to dislodge his grip.

“Let's get them up to the truck, I'm sure Captain Price has already been by the other groups.” He commands his team.

He ignores the idle threats walking back to the encampment. The closer they get the thicker the air becomes with the scent of blood and gasoline. His mask filters out most of it, but the twinge of what's to finally come lingers in the back of his throat. Every encampment gets burned to the ground. Everything. Nothing can be saved or spared. Escapees that made it out past the choke points can't be left with diseased things, heaven knows what will spread. Dead bodies can't be left or the wildlife, what little still lingers such as wild dogs and cats, will eat them and spread sickness.

He passes Simon who only tilts his head in question at what he's got over his shoulder. The woman may have spotted him because she goes still and quiet immediately. Up by the truck, and really it's five of them, stands John.

He's with a medic, looking over the detainees as they are loaded one by one in the back cabin. The ones that don't make the last check before they set off are pulled to the side.

A single scream is heard before a shot silences it.

John raises both brows, noticing Kyle and his guest. He doesn't tell him no right away, stays silent so he can make his case on why she isn't walking and being given princess treatment. The closer he gets though, the more realization dawns in his blue eyes. “Whatcha got there Sargent?”

It's rhetorical and they both chuckle at that.

“Found her in the chaos sir. Smells like flowers.” Is all Kyle says.

The medic ping pongs between the two of them. “Do I check her too?” They are nervous, their voice shakes too much.

“Yeah, check her.” John reaches out to grab her by the chin but yanks back before she can clamp her teeth on his fingers. “Yeah…reminds me of flowers too.”

The medic wastes no more time before taking her temp, examining her eyes, with a bit of force they check her teeth and do a skin check for open sores that have trouble healing. She only has the gunshot wound to the leg, and is declared fine enough for transport. A needle gets pulled from the medical bag and that's when she struggles again.

“Sshh,” Kyle calms her and holds her tight. Her breathing picks up and she becomes frantic. “It's just enough to keep you calm on the ride back, don't want you hurting yourself.”

“No! No! No! AVARICE HELP!” She wails and tries to throw herself from his grip.

Plenty of people are watching now, everyone knows that name. John furrows his brow and speaks low into his comm mic. The medic struggles but the needle goes right into the side of her neck right below her mating gland. Kyle's surprised to see that it's unmarked, smooth with no teeth dents.

It makes his mouth water at the thought and implications.

“She can ride upfront with us.” John states. His comms crackle with static.

“I got him sir.” Simon can be heard and under it faintly the sound of Riley barking.

Kyle doesn't stay to hear the rest of what's said and moves to get situated. It's a two hour drive back to Paradise. The sooner they get going the better.

○●

“What happens in those big cities mom?” You ask. The work day is over and just about all of your wares and trinkets are gone. “Avarice tells me they are all different depending on who runs them.”

Your mom sucks her teeth, “They're all the same Sweetie. Harsh. Crowded. Not a lot of room to live. Everyone is in fight or flight mode. People who can tough it out, thrive there.” She looks towards the city that is walled up and shakes her head. She continues, “Folks who can make babies don't ever do well there. You can make babies and if you ever find yourself in a place like that, do everything you can to take your life or resign to submission.”

You've never been in an actual vehicle before. Your limbs feel heavy, mind clouded with fog. The last words of your mother's advice about those cities linger. Despite everything, you're too scared of death and don't want to die young. The world around you blurs, it's just shapes and distant noises. You imagine hearing the unmistakable sound of Avarice’s voice, you're not too sure. Whatever was in that needle finally pulls you under into darkness.

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uraeus56 · 4 days ago

Text

○Chemical Burn●

○Chemical Pregnancy●

Master list has all warnings. 18+

38 weeks and 3 days ago...|

“Sweetie, keep your mask on love.” Your mother chides as she fixes your gas mask to your face again. “You've got so many little trinkets on this thing, it may as well be a fashion accessory!” The wagon rocked you both back and forth as your horses Fairy and Dune pulled you along the deserted road. The world is quiet except for the bird song that echoes in the early morning.

You grumble and tighten your grip on the reins, “It gets hot under all of these clothes, mom. Have a little mercy on me.”

“I know you hate it. But it is what it is.” She nudges you in the side, “Take us off to the side of the road. We can set up shop here for when the city opens up.”

The road that leads into the city isn't exactly empty. Lots of people traveling in the dry heat that shouldn't exist in England. Once upon a time, your mother explained how different the world was. It was not peaceful so to say but it wasn't always like this. Most of the ground is fallow, cities fallen and replaced with settlements, where humans roam there is only dust and highways. A horrendous war with irreversible consequences that left no one, no matter the economic status, safe.

The wagon gets pulled into the brush, just off the side of the main road. Your mother hops off her seat, pats Fairy on the side and adjusts her gas mask. The horse has a habit of trying to shake her mask free, and she neighs and grunts her displeasure. “I know Fairy, but it isn't safe to breathe the air out here and I can't have you and Dune eating the grass. It's not treated.”

You hop off the wagon seat and start setting up, “Why are we even out this way anyhow?” you hate leaving the Pink House and you hate having to be covered head to toe. Just like your horse Fairy, you hate wearing a gas mask.

The curtain to the wagon gets pulled back to expose the micro living area, a table pulled out and set up. You and your mother sell charms and spells, and faith. She's been a spiritualist since before you were born and during these times and days, she's always in high demand. Plenty of candles and strings, crystals, cents, oils and other little talismans. All of them lovingly crafted by you and everyone else that lives at the Pink House, and blessed by your mother and her sisters.

“We came out this way because your cousin got word that there's gonna be a baby boom and plenty of packs would want good luck charms and prayers.”

“No offense.” You huff as you drag out the stools and set them at the table, “This far out west people don't tend to like or care for religion. Dad said so himself.”

“He is an ex-catholic. His opinion doesn't count.” She laughs. The wind decides to give you all a nice cool breeze as the sun climbs higher to its zenith. Your envy of your mother is palpable, she isn't wearing layers upon layers of clothing. Her designation allows her to get away with thin dresses and a head covering. Her gas mask is one of the old school ones, a nozzle and two large glass covered eye holes. From a distance she doesn't look like much, but she is an alpha. Strong, quick reflexes from her years in the army, but when the world fell apart she took her pack and ran for the hills. Now she is a spiritualist, called to practice in the new world and ground herself with the Earth again.

You however, are covered in head to toe cloth. It covers your hair, and flows down your body, making you shapeless to others, and your hands and wrists are then covered with gloves. The color is boring and unassuming black, your pastel gas mask stands out brightly against it. It's breathable, but you hate it, the dress doesn't compare to what you wear at the Pink House. It wasn't your brightly colored shirts and wrap dresses and skirts, at the Pink House you could run through the fields barefoot. The tinkling of the bells sewn into the fabric of your veil and the way that gas masks were not needed, because fresh air was plentiful. At the Pink House, designation didn't matter and people like you could exist in peace.

Outside though? With the savages? And that's what your father calls them, savages still clinging to how things used to be, it wasn't safe. Betas are rare and omegas are a commodity. Fresh life is a privilege bought by the few and everyone else toils and slaves for a meager existence.

Your mother sets up the sign, ‘Pink House Prayers and Charms.’ it reads in a large fancy script. Under it in smaller print, ‘Herbal Care and Fresh Tonics.’

A large siren horn blares, long and obnoxiously loud, disturbing the peace, it's now 9am and the city is open. Paradise, from what you've heard used to be some large city metropolis. A cement wall as high as the sky built around it sits in the distance. It keeps out the undesired and keeps in the healthy. The horn scatters the birds and their songs, flocks of them springing up flying away. In your gut, as you watch the black birds flee the noise you become unsettled.

“Mom?” You watch the birds circle and caw and it competes with the sirens, “the birds.”

“It's fine, sweetie.” She brings out of the wagon an old bluetooth speaker and a cracked tablet. “The sirens mean for the day to start. People can leave the city but they gotta be back by final call.” She sets up the music and some old timey music starts to play. A song called ‘Shake it out’ by some machine lady.

You preferred your father's more upbeat music, but your mom's was nice too.

It's 9:45a on the dot when the first customers arrive. All morning you've watched people travel out to the work fields and factories. But now you are getting customers. Omegas with a gaggle of children, following after them. All of them wanted cute little knick knacks and hand made toys. Some of them want a card reading, others candles and oils and florida water. You're kept busy as you make the trades. The business doesn't run off of the currency of the settlements alone, it's accepted, but mostly your mother wants glass bottles and jars, and other things not available at the Pink House.

“Excuse me ma'am.” A young woman with tan skin and freckles, bright brown eyes approaches your table. She fiddles with her gas mask, eyes shifting around, her hand goes up to tug at her hoodie and tug it more over her head. “Uhm, I'm looking for a medicine to stop my nausea.” She has to be around the same age as you. Her voice is rough, probably from crying, she shifts and ends up hugging herself. “I'm sorry, but I only have a few glass milk bottles and a few cents.” She sounds on the verge of desperation.

Your mother eyes her and then leans around to glance at the rest of the customers who are waiting and chatting, or milling about gossiping. The children who came out, play tag and slowly but surely the side of the road is turning into a gathering. “Sweetie, can you man the table?”

“I can mom.”

“Got your own cards in case you get asked for a reading?” She stands up and motions for the woman to follow her into the wagon.

“Yeah mom,” you lean back and sigh, “I have my clover cards.”

“Don't sass me.” And then she disappears into the wagon with the nervous woman, the heavy curtain falling shut behind them both.

You're cheeky once she leaves, “Don't sass me.” The next customer comes up and asks for a few colored candles and a small vial of oil. The minutes crawl by with you running the stand.

“Next customer!” You call out and the sun gets blocked out by a shadow. The stretch in your neck is a bit uncomfortable when you crane it back to get a better look at the person. They are big, wide and imposing. Their presence blots out the chatter and merriment all around the wagon and table. His gas mask has a painted skull over it, and he is covered in head to toe black as well. Slung around his body is a gun, he wears a bulky vest that only has the numbers 141 stitched to it. His right hand holds the handle to a dog harness, and the dog wears a matching themed gas mask as well. He doesn't speak. You can't even see his eyes through the tint of his mask.

“Hello!” A second man seems to materialize out of thin air. He's bright and sunny, and the grin can be heard in his voice. “Ye gotta permit?” You can see most of his face and head, his mask only covers the bottom half of his face. Blue eyes as clear as the sky above you and a mohawk that's a bit grown out but shaved down neatly on the sides.

A quick glance back at the curtain and it's still closed up tight. The blue-eyed man taps the table, it's not impatient but it does come across threatening. He looks down at the trinkets and table set up and hums.

“Look lieutenant. Haven't seen things in a while. What is this?” He picks up a small vial of liquid and reads the placement card, “claims to help get yer cock up and keep it up. Something you don't need.” He laughs.

You square your shoulders and stand, “Please do not touch without planning to buy.”

“Permit.” Is the only thing the lieutenant says.

The permit is inside, where your mother is very likely doing something that could get you both killed. “Mom!” You call and the curtain opens a bit and she steps out, closing it back up behind her.

“Asking for a permit?” She doesn't cower at their size despite their towering and suppressing appearance. The permit gets produced, “It's up to date as needed from the capital.”

The cheery man takes the paper and looks it over, “Smart woman, classifying ya business as religious services. No tax needed.”

The dog on the harness growls loudly at your mother. Barking and trying to lunge at her, the loud sudden noises spook the horses. She doesn't move and instead raises her chin towards the main road, “You've checked my permit, you should get going.”

“Just close up shop at the final siren.” Mohawk hands back the permit. He moves to leave but the skull man doesn't budge, he is facing the wagon.

“There anybody in the wagon?” He speaks again.

“No.” Your mother tells him. “You're disrupting my business, move on please.”

The tension is thick between the three of them, the dog growing louder.

“Soap come on.” Skull gives in and turns to leave.

“Right behind ya!”

Once they are both back to their jeep and gone from the side of the road, life is breathed back into gathering. The curtain opens a moment later and the young woman pokes her head out. She's shivering.

“Are they gone?” Her voice is raw with tears.

Your mom doesn't console her, “Yeah, get back to where you need to be before they come back looking for you.”

You watch in pity as the woman thanks your mother and leaves. The woman hurries on back to the city.

“Alphas like that Sweetie.” Your mom murmurs, “You stay far away from them. I know their kind and they are not right in the head if they work for any city.”

“What ya mean mom?” You tilt your head at her.

“The last war ruined them. I'm just glad I deserted before then.” Is the only thing she says.

38 weeks and 3 days later...|

The screaming was unbearable in their townhouse. Simon couldn't stand hearing any of his mates in pain and the worst part is, he couldn't do anything about it. The acrid scent of fear and burnt sugar filled the house. Two betas rushed up and down the basement steps ferrying hot water, a luxury, to their laboring omega. It's been a risky pregnancy the entire time.

John stands by the door to the basement, he doesn't look concerned. Their alpha never is, he doesn't show fear and in turn Simon doesn't either. He trusts his judgment, always has and always will. Johnny paces back and forth trying to keep himself from going down the steps. The only one downstairs is Kyle, and it's only because he has the most medical training out of all of them, even if it was hastily done in the waning years before the end.

Panic rises in the air, and the screams stop altogether, but the beta midwife is still barking out orders. An uncharacteristic wail comes from Kyle, the words ‘Save her!’ is heard over the chaos. He is effectively kicked out of the basement.

“Is our lass gonna be okay?” Johnny whimpers, there's already tears in his eyes.

“No.” Kyle does not say anything else as he stares at the door.

Simon feels sick to his stomach. Their omega is dying and there isn't much they can do about it. It's been happening a lot this breeding cycle. Omegas dying in childbirth, pups coming too early and barely making it, the undertakers making money hand over fist. The new bonding program is supposed to work. It's supposed to be foolproof to build up the numbers of a healthy population. Plenty of different measures were taken to increase the beta and omega population. Medicines to force bonds in place, to make less than reluctant omegas and betas to bond with packs of alphas if they aren't willing. It's for the good of humanity and everyone has to do it.

The midwife comes up the stairs, she's holding a crying pup in her arms. It's wrapped tightly in the soft yellow blanket that John had bought. It matches the color scheme of soft greens and soft blues of the nursery on the fourth floor of the house, far away from any doors. The midwife looks sad, her smock covered in blood. “Captain Price, he's a healthy baby boy. Baby will more than likely be an alpha when they mature, and doesn't have the right parts to birth children. Looks male presenting through and through.”

John doesn't move an inch and just stares at the door to the basement. It's Johnny who moves to take the baby and coddles it quiet. There is sniffling but Simon can't tell who it's from, could be from Johnny or Kyle. The omega they worked hard to get and love died in childbirth. A cruel fate to have death and life at the same door.

“Would you like for me to call the undertaker?” The midwife asks.

“No. We take care of our own. Simon pay her and her assistants and see them out.” John gives the order and Simon moves to get it done.

Once the midwife and her assistants are paid and gone, Simon comes back and he can finally take off his balaclava. “What's the plan Captain?” He asks.

“We get down to the market, you and me, stock up on milk and glass bottles. After we get him settled” he nods over to Johnny, whose face is wet with tears, “We'll figure out who takes jobs and when. Maybe Kate will help us out. Her mate just had another pup.” John glances back to the door and mumbles something about cremation and having to deep clean the basement.

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