Page 59 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

"I was never really like this," I continue, gesturing vaguely toward myself—the combat gear, the tactical positioning, the calculated preservation of resources. "All scientific and lacking emotion. I was like you. Full of life and determination."

Riot sighs heavily, the sound carrying genuine exhaustion rather than theatrical display.

She slides down to a seated position mirroring mine, the concrete floor creating an uncomfortable resting place that nonetheless provides necessary recovery opportunity.

"I wasn't always this tamed," she confesses, voice dropping lower as if sharing dangerous secrets despite probable institutional surveillance. "The version you're seeing now is nothing like who I was…a girl chambered in this place with her twin sister, filled with sparked defiance and hoping to ignite chaos with all the anger inside her."

Her gaze meets mine with unexpected intensity, something like recognition passing between us despite our limited shared history.

"Only it didn't go down that route in the slightest," she adds, bitterness entering her tone with familiar resonance.

The parallel to my own experience registers with uncomfortable clarity.

Another omega with a twin, another subject shaped by institutional methodology into something that serves their purposes rather than personal objectives.

Another player in Press's elaborate game whose narrative mirrors my own with disturbing similarity.

"What happened?" I ask, the question emerging with genuine interest rather than tactical intelligence gathering. Something about this omega resonates, despite rational assessment suggesting that emotional engagement represents unnecessary risk within current operational parameters.

Riot's expression darkens, shadows beneath her eyes deepening as memories clearly surface with painful clarity.

"It was a trial where they were testing us," she begins, voice taking on the distinctive cadence of someone revisiting trauma through conscious recall rather than emotional immersion. "Me and three other omegas, one of them being Nyx."

The name sends an involuntary jolt through my system—my sister, the omega meant to replace me, the unwitting participant in institutional deception who ultimately escaped with assistance I'm only beginning to understand.

"She acted just like you," Riot continues, studying my features with disconcerting intensity. "Only she feared what she could do and achieve. How they molded her into the weapon they wished to create in all of us."

Her hands clench into fists against her thighs, knuckles whitening with tension before consciously relaxing through evident self-control.

"I helped the others escape," she states with quiet finality. "And I was the sacrifice left behind."

I stare at her as silence settles between us, the admission carrying implications that transform my understanding of both current circumstances and past events.

This omega directly facilitated my sister's escape—creating the vacancy that allowed my return, establishing the conditions that made my current mission possible.

The realization lands with unexpected weight, transforming theoretical alliance possibility into something more complex and significant within operational parameters.

"It's not like they wished to leave me behind," Riot continues, her voice taking on a distant quality as memories clearly surface. "It's exactly like the message said marked in that previous room. A sacrifice is necessary."

She pauses, brow furrowing as she seems to disappear momentarily into her own thoughts.

When she speaks again, her voice has dropped to barely more than a whisper.

"I've always had near-death experiences, but I always survived them. Again and again and again, making it almost like my superpower." A bitter smile touches her lips. "It made me cocky. Rough. Proud, loud, and aggravated."

Her fingers tap an unconscious rhythm against her knee—not nervous energy but something more deliberate, almost like she's counting heartbeats or marking time.

"Maybe I thought I was invincible," she admits with surprising candor, "but the reality was... I didn't have anyone to return to. Nothing to go back to like the other girls."

The confession carries unexpected vulnerability despite her tactical competence. This omega who navigates institutional horror with evident experience still carries emotional wounds beneath her practiced efficiency. The contradiction makes her simultaneously more interesting and more dangerous aspotential ally—unpredictable emotional factors complicating otherwise reliable tactical assessment.

She looks up suddenly, eyes locking with mine with disturbing intensity.

"Nyx kept saying she remembered having a sister. That she had to escape this place to find out who she was outside of it."

My breath catches involuntarily at this direct confirmation of my sister's awareness—even if incomplete, even if fractured by institutional manipulation, she maintained some connection to our shared origin.

"I'm sure she was in captivity the longest. Longer than the rest of us," Riot continues, unaware of the impact her casual revelation has created. "Those lab douches spoke of it like some grand prize. As if an omega wants to be stuck in this prison."

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