Page 101 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

No scent marks me as omega – that essential essence stripped away by their endless experiments. No natural responses stir when alpha pheromones fill the air. None of the instincts that should define my designation remain intact.

I'm a malfunctioning creation, a failed experiment in everything except killing.

Even if by some miracle a pack claimed me, how could I fulfill any of the roles an omega should? How could I offer comfort I can't feel? Respond to needs I can't sense?

Provide the emotional connection that's been burned out of me?

Riot's lifeless form drifts through my thoughts – another failure, a soul sacrificed to the monster they made me. Azurite and Luna are lost somewhere in this labyrinth of horror, perhaps already dead or wishing they were.

Even those brief moments of connection, those precious fragments of what I’d dare claim as friendship, have been torn away like everything else.

The communicator slips from my nerveless fingers as I reach for the gun.

My movements feel dreamlike,detached, as I disengage the safety with practiced ease. The weapon's weight settles differently in my hands now that I'm the intended target rather than the executioner.

I've witnessed intimately what bullets do to flesh, and heard the desperate pleas for mercy that accompany their impact. Watched the light fade from countless eyes as final breaths gurgled through blood-filled throats.

If only I could be as emotionless as this construct of metal and purpose.

Perhaps then the weight of all I've done wouldn't press so heavily against what remains of my soul. Then I could forget the faces that haunt my dreams, the screams that echo in my quietest moments.

My breath hitches, uneven and raw, as fresh tears trace burning paths down my cheeks.

The barrel feels almost loving against my skin – cool, promising, final.

My hands tremble not from fear but from the enormity of this choice, this one true decision that is finally, completely my own.

A peculiar calm settles over me as I acknowledge the truth:

I don't want to die.

Not really.

The primal spark of life still burns somewhere deep inside, yearning for sunlight, freedom, and the possibility of joy. But living like this, existing as nothing more than their carefully crafted weapon to be abused until my use runs dry…that's not living at all.

That's just prolonging the torture they began six years ago.

My finger brushes the trigger with something like tenderness just as the lullaby begins playing in my mind.

The melody floats gently and sweetly through my consciousness, so faint I almost miss it beneath the thundering of my heart.

Is this the shadows' parting gift?

One last comfort before I step into whatever darkness awaits? The notes carry hints of love and safety, of things I might have known once, of everything I'll never know again.

Thank you, shadows.

Whether they were created out of pure insanity, or delivered aftermath of all the injected concoctions put into my system, I am grateful for their companionship, even if it feels short-lived.

I didn’t realize how significant their presence was until I no longer heard them, but to be comforted in such a way that feels unique for me, gives a pinch of relief that all the pain I’d endured will be over.

That the shadows that have kept me thriving can be finally laid to rest…

Lost in these final haunting notes, in this last moment that belongs purely to me, I miss the approaching footsteps until it's too late.

The gun vanishes from my grasp as an arm wraps around my throat, pulling me back against a solid form that radiates strength and purpose.

What the?—

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