Page 53 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

The omega called Riot.

My eyebrow rises involuntarily as recognition registers.

The researcher assigned to my monitoring now stands across the chamber wearing identical tactical gear, her expression revealing none of the submission typically displayed during our previous interactions.

The pretense has been abandoned—gone is the deferential posture and carefully modulated voice used during monitoring sessions. This omega stands with natural confidence, shoulders squared and chin lifted, eyes scanning our assembled company with the same tactical assessment I'm conducting.

Our eyes connect across the distance with electric intensity, silent communication passing between us without need for verbalization. She mouths something that reads clearly despite the separation:

I'll explain later.

I offer a single, measured nod in acknowledgment, attention shifting to complete assessment of our assembled company.

Twelve omegas total—each representing different stages of institutional processing, different levels of awareness regarding their circumstances, different capacities for the challenges Press has orchestrated.

Most appear disoriented, fear and confusion evident in their postures and expressions. They cluster instinctively toward the chamber's center, seeking safety in proximity despite being competitors rather than allies in whatever scenario awaits.

Their scents mingle in the air—distinctive omega signatures overlaid with various emotional markers. Fear predominates, sharp and acrid.

Confusion follows close behind, muddying the atmospheric composition with chaotic notes that lack coherent pattern. Beneath these obvious markers lie more interesting indicators—determination from some, calculation from others, and from at least three, the distinctive hormonal signature of recent heat suppression.

Press hasn't simply gathered random subjects. He's specifically selected omegas in or near their biological cycles to maximize dramatic potential.

Only Riot and I maintain strategic positioning near our respective entry points, understanding that tactical advantage begins with spatial awareness and position selection.

A mechanized click echoes through the chamber as hidden speakers activate with institutional precision. The gatheredomegas freeze collectively, attention shifting upward as if the voice might materialize from the soaring ceiling.

"Welcome to the Parazodiac."

The voice carries artificial modulation that renders gender and identity indeterminate—deliberately anonymized for theatrical effect rather than practical security.

The tone suggests programmed delivery rather than live communication, each word precisely calibrated for maximum psychological impact. The chamber's peculiar acoustics amplify certain frequencies while dampening others, creating an almost physical sensation of sound penetrating skin and bone rather than merely entering through auditory channels.

The theatrical presentation confirms my earlier assessment—this isn't merely evaluation but entertainment, performance rather than simple research protocol. The resources invested in atmospheric engineering alone suggest an audience beyond standard institutional personnel.

"Whether you have just arrived or have been here fulfilling your own commitments, it is time to discover the newfound layers of this grand space of protective beauty."

Several omegas exchanged confused glances, institutional terminology clearly unfamiliar to those recently acquired. Others—those in combat gear, particularly—maintain careful stillness, recognizing the calculated manipulation beneath ceremonial language.

The modulated voice continues without pause, allowing no time for questions or consideration—another technique designed to maximize disorientation and compliance through information overload.

"The objective is simple," the voice continues, modulation shifting to emphasize key concepts. "You are to acquire what you seek. All of you are chosen omegas based on your zodiac signs, and your task is to retrieve what is aligned with you."

The ceiling constellations pulse with subtle amplification as these words echo through the chamber—stars momentarily brightening in specific patterns. I identify my own birth sign among them—Gemini's twin configuration flaring with particular intensity directly above my position.

Similar reactions occur above other omegas, celestial markers identifying each participant according to astrological designation rather than institutional numbers.

Confirmation of the selection parameter. Twelve omegas, twelve signs, aligned in perfect zodiacal arrangement.

My lips curve slightly at the deliberate ambiguity—"what you seek" rather than specific designation of targets or objectives.

Classic institutional misdirection, allowing each subject to project their own desires onto the challenge parameters while maintaining plausible deniability regarding actual expectations.

"No one will interfere in aiding you," the voice promises with artificial warmth that fails to mask underlying threat. "Nor will you be saved from obstacles that uphold you. If you cannot venture out of this maze of constellations...well, that's on you."

A chill ripples through the gathered omegas, fear pheromones intensifying as the implications register with varying degrees of comprehension.

Some appear genuinely shocked by the suggestion of potential fatal outcomes—clearly misled regarding the purpose of their acquisition and transport to Ravenscroft.

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