Page 36 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

The suited man's laughter echoes through the chamber, distorting like a sound underwater. He's enjoying this –our helplessness, our fear, our forced submission.

"Sweet dreams, little omegas." His voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Do try to give us a good show. The buyers do so love a spectacle."

My vision tunnels, dark spots dancing like the shadows that usually comfort me. But they're silent now, or maybe I just can't hear them over the rushing in my ears.

The last things I register before consciousness fades:

The metallic taste of the gas on my tongue. The sound of bodies hitting glass as the others succumb. The pristine shine of Italian leather as he steps closer. That cold, empty laugh that promises worse to come…

Then nothing.

Just darkness.

And the knowledge that when I wake, I'll either become a murderer...

Or a corpse.

6

THE IRONY OF THE ALPHA DREAM

~VALE~

The ice bath is both salvation and torture.

I ease myself in with a hiss, watching as the water rises around my useless legs. The cold should be shocking –at least it used to be way back then– but now I barely feel it.

Just another sign that things are getting worse, that this disease is progressing faster than anyone predicted.

The doctors call it a blessing, this growing numbness.

Say I should be grateful that at least I'm not in constant pain anymore. But they don't understand. The pain was proof I was still fighting…that I had a fucking chance.

This creeping absence of sensation?

It's just death coming for me one nerve ending at a time.

Death is inching closer and closer to claiming its next victim.

I lean against the tub's edge, letting my head rest on the cold porcelain as memories surface unbidden. Memories of when this all started when I was still whole as an Alpha.

What I consider useful to my pack.

It had been such a simple mission.Routine, even.The kind of operation we could have run in our sleep after years of working together. Some government pencil-pusher had tried to block our access to key intelligence, thinking bureaucracy could stop us from completing our objectives.

They never learn.

I'd already identified the weak points in their security protocols, the gaps in their surveillance coverage, and the personnel most likely to look the other way for the right incentive. I even mapped out every camera angle, patrol route, and potential complication.

That was my role in the pack – the strategist, the planner, the one who saw ten moves ahead while others focused on the immediate threat.I took pride in it.In being the mind behind our operations, in ensuring our success through meticulous preparation rather than brute force.

The mission had gone perfectly, of course. They always did when I was running point. We'd acquired the intel we needed, left no trace of our presence, and made it back to base without incident.

Should have been celebrating another successful operation.

Instead, everything went to hell during a standard training run.

The day had been brutally hot, the kind of heat that makes the air shimmer and your lungs feel like they're working overtime. We were running drills – keeping sharp, and staying ready for the next mission.

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