Page 43 of Feral Omega

Whiskey, a roaring grizzly bear.

Wraith, a lone wolf.

And Valek?

Valek would be a cobra.

Thane may have won this battle, but he did not win the war. If I were him, I'd be keeping my boots on my door at night so I'd know if a snake slipped in.

Either way, I lost. I didn't escape.

Even worse, I proved I can't be trusted outside.

If I thought I was in prison before, what fresh hell awaits me now?

I keep my head down, trying to make myself as small and unobtrusive as possible as we enter the infirmary.

Plague looks up, his expression unreadable behind that unsettling mask.

"She was out with Valek," Thane growls, finally releasing me. "Why was she left unsupervised?"

"She wasn't," Plague replies evenly. "Whiskey was with her."

Thane scoffs. "That's the same damn thing and you know it."

A sigh hisses through Plague's mask, distorted and mechanical. "I've been working on something anyway." He turns, rummaging through a drawer, and my heart starts to pound as he withdraws a metal collar. It gleams coldly under the harsh infirmary lights.

What the hell is that?

"It's the kind they use on prisoners," Plague explains, his tone almost apologetic. "I'm afraid it's not exactly decorative."

Panic surges through me, primal and overwhelming. They're going to collar me like an animal. I bolt for the door, but Thane is faster. His arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my own arms to my sides as I thrash and struggle.

"No!" I hiss, trying to kick him in vain.

But even if I managed to connect with his legs, I doubt he would feel it. They're all built like brick walls. Especially Thane.

Beasts, all of them.

Plague approaches, the collar open and ready in his hands. I writhe in Thane's grasp, kicking and twisting, but it's useless. He's too strong, his hold unbreakable. The cold metal touches my neck and I flinch, a whimper escaping me as Plague secures the collar with a decisive click.

Thane releases me and I stumble away, my hands flying to my neck. The collar is snug, not tight enough to choke but impossible to ignore. A constant, tangible reminder of my captivity.

Of their ownership over me.

Tears sting my eyes but I blink them back furiously, refusing to let them see me cry. I won't give them that satisfaction. Instead, I glare at Plague with all the venom I can muster.

I don't say it, but I think it.

Fuck you.

"It's for your own safety," Plague says, his tone infuriatingly calm. "We can't have you running off into the woods. And it's better than an embedded tracking chip, isn't it?"

I want to scream, to lash out, to make them hurt the way I'm hurting. But I know it's futile. They hold all the power here, and no amount of fighting will change that.

Not yet, anyway.

The battle, not the war, I tell myself.

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