Ok, here’s the first story prompt for the new group. It’s Omegaverse. If you aren’t familiar with the genre, I’d advise looking it up before you continue reading XD. You may want to pass if you aren’t a fan of the genre. It’s more of a short story than flash fiction, since it’s just over 1,000 words. Anyway, here we go!
-Prompt- “And, this is for posterity. So please, be honest.”
(bonus points if you get the reference XD)
That was always his first question after the reversal drug took effect. I pulled the towel tighter around my shoulders, pushing the shower damp hair out of my eyes as I considered his question.
“Honestly? I think it was worse this time.”
He made a noise of interest, jotting notes on his tablet with that obnoxious little sponge tipped pen of his.
“One a scale of one to ten, how would you rate his aggression?”
“And did his performance differ in any way from your prior sessions with subject thirty-three?”
I blew out a shaky breath, wrinkling my nose a little at the thought. “Yeah. I would swear his knot felt bigger. It hurt more than the last few times, and he seemed to stay tied longer. Was it longer?” I asked, furrowing my brow curiously. He looked down at the readout on his device.
“Subject thirty-three was tied to subject twelve for thirty-five minutes and fourteen seconds. Nine minutes and five seconds longer than the prior session.”
“I thought you were increasing the suppressant dosage each time; shouldn’t the length of the knotting go down?”
“Yes, well. That’s why we’re doing these trials, Miss Carthage. To perfect the dosing before we implant prisoners.” He arched a condescending brow, frowning disapproval at me over his glasses. “If you crossed paths with him in the street, I imagine you’d feel safer knowing he’s correctly dosed and his sexual aggression is negated, wouldn’t you?”
I frown, the hair on the back of my neck prickling suspiciously. Something doesn’t seem right, but I can’t quite put my finger on what. “Well, yeah. Of course.”
“Good. May we continue?”
I sigh, nodding my head. I finish answering the litany of questions, sit through the daily lab sample collection, and am grateful when I’m finally released. I return to my room, passing through three sets of guarded doors into the safety of the omega sector of the facility, far from the prisoners in the alpha wing.
Once in my room I lay down, too exhausted and sore to consider doing anything but sleep. My entire body hurts, just like every other time subject thirty-three is my ‘partner’. It’s not as if the other alphas are gentle, but thirty-three? That man is cruel. I admit, sometimes I’m worried the restraints won’t hold him.
“Only four more weeks, Mel.” I tell myself. Only four more weeks until I can leave this horrible place, $15,000 richer for my trouble. That was the hook, after all. They lured breeding age omegas in with the promise of generous compensation and ‘the chance to help eliminate alpha on omega sex crimes’. I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. After all, what omega doesn’t want to aid the noble cause of chemically castrating violent alphas? Of course, the fact that I couldn’t pay my rent may have helped my decision.
There were twelve of us in the beginning. Omegas, that is. There were thirty-eight alphas. Now, there were only eight omegas. Many omegas had forfeit compensation and run for the hills after their first few sessions, leaving the rest of us holding the bag. There were still thirty-eight alphas. They didn’t have a choice. Most of the alphas were first time offenders who’d made plea deals to keep themselves out of jail by participating in the medical study. A few were convicted rapists, drafted for participation against their will. It didn’t seem like much of a punishment, getting to screw omegas all day. But, I wasn’t a judge or a scientist. What did I know?
It was an exhausting, harrowing experience. The females were always grouped in two’s or three’s, brought in and bent over special padded benches with a horseshoe shaped metal bar that arched over each one. The bar served two purposes. One, it stopped the female from moving too far forward when the alpha mounted her. Two? The alpha’s shackles were connected to its center, high above the female subjects back where there was no risk of him getting his hands on her. It reminded me of something you might expect to see in a sex dungeon.
Most of us being small in stature, we had to be helped up into the ‘knee stirrups’ that kept us at the ideal height for the participating alpha to penetrate us from behind, while standing. For women who spent their entire lives trying to avoid being put in a position like this, it was terrifying, being strapped in and prepped for ‘breeding’. The fact that there was security standing by didn’t make anyone feel better, either.
This is how it worked; One female in each group was injected daily with a serum that induced a ‘mock heat’. They rotated which girl got the ‘pleasure’. The women were led in and bent over the special benches, their hands cuffed to the front of the bench ‘for their safety’. The participating alpha was also given an injection. One we were told was an experimental medication designed to deaden an alpha’s natural reaction to an omega’s unique natural attractant. Each time, they claimed the dosage administered to the male was increased.
The participating male was always blindfolded, shackled, and hobbled. He was led in by a chain attached to his shackles, made to pause in the very center of the room on a target that reminded me of a landing pad. His goal? Identify the female in heat and breed her. Once he sniffed his way to the prize, his shackles were attached to the frame above her, and he was assisted in finding his ‘mark’ by the handler. Then they let him fuck the ‘lucky girl’ to completion. Thankfully, the serum made the whole ordeal more tolerable. When your brain was overloaded on synthetic hormones and telling your body you needed to make babies, that alpha cock was the best thing in the entire world.
As I understood it, the goal was fairly simple. If the male wasn’t as affected by the natural attractants of an omega, the level of aggression he experienced in her presence would lessen. Decreased interest in sexual activities, impotence, depression, and sexual dysfunction were all potential side effects. Side effects that the scientists told us were intentional markers of the drug. Their hope was that if the trials were successful, those guilty of committing violent sex crimes might be implanted with a device that made re-occurrence of the unwanted behaviors less likely.
At first, it seemed like a great idea. But the further into the trial we got, the more I felt like we’d been misled. Contrary to the expected outcome, all the girls were experiencing the same thing. The alphas were growing more aggressive, fucking longer, experiencing higher knotting success, and by some reports seemed even to be producing more cum. When any of us tried to address our concerns with the doctors, they assured us this was the purpose of drug trials. To find out what works, and what doesn’t.
I’m pretty sure that’s not what’s actually going on here. Though the doctors and scientists are mainly beta males and females, I’ve seen a few alphas in suits in the control room during test sessions. They don’t look like the belong, but they DO seem to be in charge. That’s what’s so hard for me to understand. Why would they want to emasculate their own? It could be political, I guess. But I’m beginning to suspect something more sinister is going on here.
I don’t have any proof, of course. Just a ‘gut feeling’, so to speak. Really, I guess it doesn’t matter. As I drift off to sleep, I remind myself that I’ll only have to worry about it for four more weeks. Then, I’ll be done with this whole nightmare and on my way home with enough money in my bank account to take a little vacation and tide me over until I find a new job.
Or so I thought.
I’m woken by the sound of my door opening. Bleary eyed and confused, I roll over and struggle up to my elbows, squinting at the shadowed figures now approaching my bed. I sit up, immediately alarmed. “Wh..What’s going on?”
“Subject twelve, your participation in Project 20-15 is terminated. You are being transferred to a new study.”
“W..What? What are you talking about?” I press my back against the wall, drawing my knees up to my chest as I try to shrink away from the approaching figures. “What study? Why am I being terminated? I don’t understand!”
“You’ve been fertilized, Subject twelve. You can no longer participate in Project 20-15. You will be transferred to study ‘AO6’.”
I can feel the look of shock forming as my mouth drops open. “F..Fertilized? What are you talking about?” Panic quickly takes hold as I realize something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. The medication they were giving us to simulate heat was supposed to make the lining of the uterus too thin to support an egg attaching, even if fertilized successfully. “W..What the hell is AO6?”
“AO6 is a rehabilitation study.” The first man says.
“Wherein we are attempting to determine whether or not a sexually aggressive or violent alpha’s behavior might be altered by fatherhood, as normal bonded male’s often experience.” The second concludes.
I’m still sitting here with my mouth hanging open, staring up at them in disbelief.
“What? No! I’m not having some rapists baby, are you crazy? Your medications were supposed to keep this from happening! I want the pregnancy terminated! Right now! I’m not doing another study, fuck that!”
“Subject twelve, if you cannot be calm, we will have to sedate you.”
“Fuck you!” I screech, fight or flight instincts kicking into gear as I leap to my feet and make a mad dive for the door.
I’m caught around the waist as I leap from the bed, my forward progress abruptly stopped by the arms now wrapped around my middle. Frantic, I start screaming and kicking for all I’m worth, desperate to get away. I scratch and claw and flail, fighting to be free.
I know exactly who the new study participant they plan to pair me with is, and if the idea of carrying his child wasn’t terrifying enough, being trapped with a violent criminal in some ‘pseudo Susie-homemaker’ study scenario for the next nine months has me wetting myself as I struggle.
The man holding me curses, and I’m suddenly on my back on the floor with a man astride my stomach, trying to catch my flailing arms as I strike at him. While the first man holds me down, the second lifts what I can only assume is a syringe, a thing that’s confirmed when I feel the familiar pinch of a needle piercing my skin seconds later. I continue to scream, begging and sobbing even as the medication begins to take effect. My limbs grow heavy, my struggles ceasing almost entirely within seconds of being injected.
“No.” I slur pathetically. “Please, I don’t want the money, just let me go home!”
But they aren’t listening. In fact, they’re already talking to each other as if I’m unconscious.
“It’s only taken a month to restore the reproductive capabilities of subject thirty-three. It’s a promising development. It won’t be long before we are able to successfully reverse the chemical sterilization process one hundred percent of the time. If we are successful with the behavioral modifications as well, the project is likely to be a success.”
“Yes. Subject thirty-three’s fertilization of subject twelve is a promising first step. Let’s hope the next phase of rehabilitation is as successful.”
As I lose consciousness, I’m disappointed that there isn’t more satisfaction in the knowledge that I was right.