Page 2 of Omega Alliance

“Not like this will. It’s a pretty sensitive area.” Dani studies me for a moment, then frowns. Her usually bright blue eyes appear to dim as an unspoken thought crosses her mind. I can see the wheels turning, but I don’t want to know where they lead. It’s better that way, really.

I close my eyes tight and suck in a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The first touch of the needle isn’t that bad, but as the artist continues her work, the area begins to throb with pain. I grip the edges of the chair and dig my fingers into the polished leather.

“I tried to warn you,” Dani whispers, compassion reflecting in her ocean eyes.

“Uh-huh,” I half grunt, half sob.

“Would it help if I kept talking to you? You know, as a distraction?”

I try to answer but instead choke on another groan.

She pauses for a moment and drums her fingers against her work tray. “Okay, okay, let me think…”

Normally we don’t talk beyond the basic pleasantries required as we say hello and goodbye. This whole encounteris televised, which means hundreds of thousands of people are watching, listening, latching on to anything and everything either of us utters.

Dani needs to tread lightly here. Meanwhile I just need this wretched flower to be finished. If it’s this bad going on, it’s going to be murder dealing with it as it heals. I’ll need to waddle like a damned duckling to avoid letting my thighs brush together and unleashing a fresh torrent of pain with each step as I go about my meager life.

“I could talk about myself,” Dani offers after a beat, then brings her gun to my thigh to resume her work. “But I worry that won’t actually help anything.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as that white-hot sensation spreads over my thigh, threatening to reach even farther, to take over my entire body.

She bites her lower lip before speaking again. "It's just that my life is out there. Yours is in here. They're very different."

She's right about that. Our lives are very different. What I wouldn't give to hear about how the world has changed since I was last a part of it. But no, the directors wouldn't like Dani sharing. If she did, this might be the last time I ever see her.

I still remember the tattoo artist before, wonder what happened to her. I can't even recall her name now, but she inked me the first two times. While working on her second piece, a massive mandala that covers a good portion of my back, she filled our time together by regaling me with stories about her pet cat. We laughed together as she described the way he chased after a laser dot and kept a hoard of stolen hair ties under the sofa.

I couldn't stop myself from smiling whenever I pictured that naughty feline, even going so far as to imagine I had one of my own. When I closed my eyes to picture the soft touch of its fur, the deep rumbling of its purr, I could almost feel it there with me—a hopeless daydream, but one that brought me comfort all the same.

Until the time rolled around for my next inking, revealing that the first artist had vanished, leaving Dani in her place.

I didn't ask what happened, because I already knew. She'd gotten too personal, excited too much curiosity.

And curiosity can lead to many unwanted things, including rebellion. These days I am finding myself more and more curious about what it’s like outside these four walls.

Back then, I just wanted a friend to keep me company. But after that shock to my system, I never thought of that cat again, not when it hurt too much to lose something I never even had in the first place.

Now I get a new tattoo every three months. Some are small and quick while others take the better part of the day to complete. This is my fourteenth session with Dani, and I refuse to let it be the last.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk," I tell her now, gently brushing my fingertips across her arm. She is the closest thing I have to a friend in this place, and yet I know almost nothing about her.

Still, I'd hate to lose her. Especially since I don't know what happened to the first girl who perched on that stool and held that tattoo gun, looking down at me with something akin to pity.

Dani's gaze connects with mine, cool and assessing while mine burns with an intensity I pray doesn't show through the cameras.

The corners of her mouth tilt up, revealing the briefest flash of a smile. "All right, then I'll sing to you."

"You can sing?" I ask in surprise. Here I thought people were only ever granted one special talent, but Dani apparently has both art and music. It makes me wonder what else she can do.

She nods. "I can, but it's usually only in the shower." She smirks. "You know, when I'm completely alone."

No, I don’t know. I am never truly alone. I am always monitored, always watched. Yes, even in the shower.

"I don't want to be a bother," I whisper rather than explain all this, my gaze dropping to my lap even though it's a wasted effort. The cameras can see everything, can hear even the softest of voices and barest of breaths.

"You're not." Dani’s voice lingers for a moment before she clears her throat. "Are you comfortable? Would you like a pillow behind your head or under your legs?”

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