Page 2 of Ruined Omega

“Sorry,” I say. “Something needs to be done about what?” I hate how meek and mousy my voice sounds when it comes out of my mouth.

“About the Zone!” Martin nearly shouts. He stuffs another hunk of meat in his face. “The damn Quarantine Zone. I mean, something like that can’t just be left unattended.”

“Well, it’s not exactly unattended. There’s the wall, and—“

“That’s not enough!” Martin cuts me off, spraying a few flecks of food in the process. “It just isn’t safe, I tell you. If those things, those beasts, that live in there ever get out, ho ho ho…” He pauses briefly to swallow, then in a quieter voice he adds, “In fact, I’ve heard that it has already happened once. A few months ago. Rumor has it four of those filthy Alphas got out of the Zone and actually made it all the way to the city.”

I feign surprise and take a sip of wine.

The truth is, I know all about those Alphas. There were three of them, not four. The fourth was an omega named Sloane. As a matter of fact, I’m the one who secretly helped them escape back to the Zone.

The Quarantine Zone.

God, just thinking about it sends a shiver up my spine.

Comprising several hundred square miles, the Quarantine Zone is situated far to the north of the city hive where I live. Many decades ago there was a cataclysmic event in that region—a mysterious outbreak of mutations. A massive iron wall had to be erected around the Quarantine Zone to keep the mutants inside.

For a long time, almost nobody in the city hive knew the truth about the Zone. Most people assumed that it wasn’t even inhabited anymore. Then, six months ago, that all got turned upside down. It came to light that SynerGen, my former company, had been responsible for the Cataclysm, and they had been covering it up for decades.

As a matter of fact, I was one of the whistle-blowers who brought that story to light.

Over the past months, the fallout from that revelation has been intense. SynerGen has collapsed, and following widespread protests, there has been a major shakeup of the government as well.

But that doesn’t mean I’m safe.

Quite the opposite.

Out of fear of retribution, I’ve been forced to take certain precautions. I’ve changed my name. Faked my IDs. Moved to a different address in a less than reputable section of the city hive. All in an attempt to avoid the attention of powerful people who might want to get rid of me.

Like I said. I’m a loose end.

And then there’s my research. I’m sure some people would love to get their hands on that.

For now, however, I make a pathetic attempt to relax and enjoy my dinner, forcing myself to take a few more bites of spicy shrimp and pasta, even though my stomach feels like it’s filled with an unmeltable brick of ice.

At least I don’t have to make much of an effort at conversation. The only thing Martin likes more than eating steak is hearing himself talk, and apparently he has no qualms about doing both at the same time. I quietly listen to him pontificate about the problem of the Quarantine Zone and what needs to be done about it.

I really shouldn’t be so judgmental. After all, I did agree to this date.

Now, however, I realize what a mistake that was. But I’m desperate. No, I don’t mean that I’m desperate for sex—I’m talking about protection.

With a mysterious figure shadowing me everywhere I go, I never feel safe. And I can’t go to the police. For one thing, I don’t have any real proof. Just a hunch. More important, if I explained to them why someone might want to stalk a boring little nerd like me, well…my whole cover would be blown. It wouldn’t take the police long to find out about my faked IDs, and then they would throw me in prison.

So that’s why I thought…

God, it’s too embarrassing. I guess I thought maybe having a man in my life would provide an element of safety. At least I wouldn’t be alone all the time—wouldn’t be such a vulnerable target. That’s why I started poking around on dating websites a few weeks ago. And that’s how I ended up here tonight with Martin.

Now, however, I just feel ashamed.

It’s classic me. Mousy little Hines, never able to take care of herself. Always depending on someone else, whether it’s her parents, her employer, or a boyfriend.

Martin, however, is definitely not my boyfriend, and he’s not going to be either.

Oh well, I can’t very well get up and leave now, even though Martin clearly deceived me with his dating profile. His profile picture was from years ago, if it’s even really him at all. And looking at his doughy body, I have my doubts about his supposed prowess in martial arts. Does he really even work for a private security firm like he claimed on his profile, or is that another lie too?

Whatever. I just have to bite down and get through the rest of the dinner. Then I’ll go home to my depressing, empty loft and a long, sleepless night in a cold and empty bed.

Across the table, Martin is finally finishing up both his steak and his rant.