Page 77 of Stolen Omega

Playing online poker to make money and sitting in this shitty apartment trawling through humanity’s dregs is all I do anymore. I gave my life up for a shot at revenge and I’m determined to get to that bloodied finish line, whatever it takes.

So, I read every line of the disgusting conversation the little fish are having, watching and waiting to see if someone who takes the bait actually passes the test.

A quarterly auction gets mentioned, and the user who asked about it is ejected from the room.

Those are supposed to be a secret. They’re invitation only, with locations that are never revealed in advance or to anyone who isn’t invited, and anyone who asks openly about them is instantly kicked out. I wouldn’t be surprised if his IP address was blocked, too.

Any over-eager beavers are suspect. The guy might have been a typical scumbag, or he might have been a reporter. I guess he could even be someone like me, though that doesn’t seem too likely.

Guys like me don’t risk losing their connections by asking dumb questions.

We don’t get invited to a secret auction if we can’t be trusted.

I watch the conversation, and I add in comments that agree with every fucked-up thing those assholes have to say. It’s the same vile shit every day, spewed by men who hate women and who want to control and hurt them.

These men are losers. Pathetic assholes leading meaningless lives.

My life might be close to meaningless now, but I still have one last purpose that I’m waiting to fill.

I lean back in my armchair and stare at the ceiling.

My chance is coming, and when it does, I can finally stop all this shit.

When those assholes are dead, I won’t need to be here anymore.

I won’t need to be anywhere.

Then, finally, I can be with Zoey again.

I close my eyes, thinking about that reunion.

It’s hard to imagine what she’ll look like, but that doesn’t matter.

I know how she’ll feel. How she always felt. Bright like sunshine, warming me even on the rainy days.

A sudden knock makes me lift my head, scattering my thoughts.

The smile on my lips vanishes. Remembering Zoey always brings back the sting of losing her twice as sharp. There’s no more sunshine in my life. It disappeared the morning after she did.

All I have left are dark, cold, rainy days.

I switch off my laptop when I realize the knock is coming from the apartment door.

My landlord already thinks I’m trouble. He doesn’t need to come barging into my bare bones living room to find I’m having disgusting conversations with incels on the dark web. This place is cheap. I’d rather keep my living costs to a minimum while I’m saving poker winnings for a one-way ticket to hell.

“Calm down, I’m coming,” I call out as I walk across the threadbare carpet to answer the door.

I turn on the lamp next to the door before I open it.

The last person I expect to see is the only one who can make me feel anything other than anger anymore.

Dale Marcos was my best friend since I was a kid. We grew up on the same street, and we gravitated toward each other as Alpha and Omega. The three-year age difference didn’t seem to matter. The same way it was with Zoey, who lived a block over in an actual house, it felt like we were meant to be together. All three of us were supposed to be family.

I haven’t seen Dale in a year or more, and I haven’t spoken to him in fuck knows how long.

The guilt that swells up in me seeing him on my doorstep makes my gut clench.

“Dale …” I murmur, not able to find more words.

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