Page 52 of Stream Heat
I sat in the dingy waiting room, trying not to touch anything. The "clinic" was tucked behind a vape shop in a strip mall that had seen better decades. The plastic chair dug into my back, and the fluorescent light overhead flickered with a rhythm that made my head throb.
This was what desperation looked like: me, Kara Quinn, sitting in an unlicensed doctor's office at 7 AM, having snuck out of the Pack Wrecked house before anyone woke up.
Well, almost anyone. Jace had been in the kitchen, silently sipping tea while editing something on his laptop. Our eyes had met briefly as I tried to slip past.
"Early stream prep?" he'd asked, his quiet voice giving nothing away.
"Doctor appointment," I'd replied, not entirely lying. "Nothing serious. Back in a few hours."
He'd nodded once, eyes lingering on my face a moment too long before returning to his screen. "Be careful."
Something in his tone had made me wonder if he knew more than he was saying, but I couldn't worry about that now.
The receptionist, a woman with unnaturally black hair and nicotine-stained fingers, called my name. Not my real name, of course. I'd given a fake one when I made the appointment through the encrypted messaging app I'd found on a designation black market forum.
"Doctor will see you now," she said, barely looking up from her phone.
I followed her down a narrow hallway to a room that tried and failed to look like a legitimate medical office. The equipment was outdated but clean, at least. Small mercies.
Dr. Levine, if that was evenhisreal name, was a thin man in his fifties with nervous eyes and the practiced smile of someone who'd learned bedside manner from a YouTube tutorial. His white coat looked too new, like a costume he put on to play doctor.
"Ms. Smith," he greeted me, using my fake name. "What can I help you with today?"
I closed the door behind me, lowering my voice despite us being alone. "I need suppressants. Extra-strength. Military-grade."
His expression didn't change, but his scent, sterile and medicinal with undertones of something bitter, shifted slightly. "I see. And why do you believe you need that particular grade of medication?"
"Because I've been on them for eight years, and my supplier got arrested." I sat in the chair across from his desk, keeping my back straight, chin up. Professional. Businesslike. Not desperate at all. "I had a breakthrough heat on livestream three weeks ago. It nearly destroyed my career. I can't let that happen again."
He studied me for a moment, recognition dawning in his eyes. "You're that streamer. The one who–"
"Yes," I cut him off. "That one. Which is why I need your help. I've been taking withdrawal tapering doses from myregular doctor, but they're not enough. I need the real thing. I have a tournament coming up and I need to be able to function.”
"May I ask what you were taking before?" He pulled out a notepad, suddenly all clinical efficiency.
"Omegablock XR-9. Nine hundred milligrams, twice daily."
His pen stopped moving. He looked up at me, his professional mask slipping to reveal genuine alarm. "Nine hundred milligrams? Twice daily? For eight years?"
I nodded, something cold settling in my stomach at his reaction.
"Ms. Smith, or whatever your name is, do you have any idea what that dosage does to the human body?"
"Prevents heats. Masks Omega scent. Allows me to present as Beta." I recited the benefits like a pharmaceutical commercial, ignoring the growing discomfort under my skin.
Dr. Levine set down his pen and leaned forward. "That dosage is three times the maximum even the military allows, and they only permit it for active combat scenarios. Short-term. Weeks, not years."
"I know it's strong," I admitted. "But it worked. And I need it to work again."
He shook his head slowly. "I don't think you understand. XR-9 at that dosage doesn't just suppress heats or mask scent. It fundamentally alters your entire endocrine system. It shuts down not just reproductive functions but aspects of your immune system, your metabolic regulation, even your neurological responses."
My mouth went dry. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying whoever prescribed this to you for long-term use wasn't concerned with your health." His eyes narrowed. "Was it a management company? A sponsor?"
I looked away, unwilling to confirm what he already seemed to know.
"It's common in certain industries," he continued, his voice softening slightly. "Entertainment. Sports. Competitive gaming. They find promising young Omegas and put them on these regimens to make them more marketable. More 'neutral.' Less 'distracting.'"
