I stepped through the doorway into the corridor. The air here smelled clinical, like antiseptic and something metallic. The floor was cold against my bare feet. Ahead, a Beta in a white lab coat waited, clipboard poised. It was like looking at another version of Beta Love, one that had been completely drained of all color and joy. I looked for his name tag and lifted an eyebrow in surprise when I saw it. Mister Love, Head Beta Lab Tech.
“Are you related to?—”
The new tech cut me off. I was getting a little tired of that happening.
“Yes,he is my brother. We are nothing alike. If we were, he’d never have letthat thing,” he pointed at Josie, “make it past the incinerator. He’s always been odiously soft-hearted. This way.” He turned, with the distinct air of someone who’d had military training and marched away from me. I followed, suddenly missing the first Beta Love with all his overzealous joy and pink suit.
“This. Thing,” I growled quietly at his back.How fucking dare he!
A few moments later, I was seated in a wide-cushioned chair with two hinged armrests. Josie was curled beside me, pressed against my hip and not moving a muscle. She was petrified. I was going to make this up to her. Even if I had to use the entire hundred dollars on cat food and sushi.
“I’ll go over the pre-questions with you before Doctor Swann arrives.” This Beta Love was dry as a water cracker. He didn’t smile. He barely looked at me. His monotone voice held zero personality.
"Pre-questions?" I echoed, my voice still a bit shaky from the decontamination experience.
"Preliminary questions to determine your eligibility for donation." He clicked his pen and hovered it over the clipboard. "Have you been on any pharmaceutical-grade suppressants in the last six months?"
"No." Did this company even realize how expensive suppressants were? With insurance, the generics were sometimes accessible. Without insurance? Black market prices, for usually inferior knockoffs, would cost a literal organ. I’d tried to buy a scent blocking bracelet last year from some weirdo in a back alley who had dozens lining the inside of his ratty trench coat. He’d wanted twenty bucks and they were very obviously fake, soaked in inferior blocking solution. A homeless girl using real suppressants? This guy was wildly out of touch.
“Good. Have you experienced a heat cycle in the last thirty days?" He continued to speak with clinical detachment.
I shifted uncomfortably. “That’s really personal.”
“It’s necessary for us to know that you are experiencing regular, healthy heats.” He didn’t look up, just sat statuesquewith his pen ready.
I shifted uncomfortably. "I’m due for one soon, I think. My last heat was maybe a couple months ago.” I dug the nails of one hand into my thigh, trying to fight back pricking tears. I didn’t come here to be picked apart, voicing intimate details of my life, but there was no door with a giant, blinking EXIT sign I could race through. “I’ve been having pre-heat symptoms for a couple days now.”
“And, up until now, your heats have been normal?” Pen poised. Still no emotion.
“What’s an abnormal heat?” I shrugged, genuinely clueless.
“When you are in heat, have you experienced suicidal ideation, mania, increased anxiety, lack of arousal or unpleasant scent production?” He listed things off; his eyes were now focused on the ceiling as if he were running through a mental list.
I thought about his question, one hand mechanically brushing across Josie’s fur. My other hand was still brutalizing my leg.Had that been what was happening these months?With each heat, had my cycles been deviating from what they should be?
“Um…I guess that, lately, I’ve been having a harder time with them. I get really anxious and… sometimes… sometimes,” I swallowed, pushing out the final words, “don’t want to exist anymore. And the symptoms come suddenly, fade without warning. Over and over. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve had a full heat in a while. That one months ago didn’t feel totally normal either.”
Beta Love began jotting down notes; his expression betrayed nothing.
“Is that bad?” I finally asked as his writing seemed to go on for eons, which couldn’t be good. “Am I not a good candidate?” I realized I sort of sounded hopeful asking that last question. The tone of my voice made Beta Love lift his gaze to my face.
“Not at all. What you’ve gone through with your heats is very typical of Omegas in your situation. We call them dry heats, occurring when an Omega is in a poor physical or mental condition. Thankfully, with a little pampering and medicinal management, recovery is quick and painless.”
“That’s good,” I said, hopes dashed.
He finished the notes he was working on and then continued with his questions.
“Let’s see. Moving on. When was your last sexual encounter? Alpha, Omega, Beta. It doesn’t matter, but we need a full record of partner types to modify our screening.”
"I haven't..." My cheeks burned. "I've never been with anyone.”
He was writing more things down before I’d even answered. Yet, now, his pen paused mid-stroke. For the first time, he looked directly at me with more than just clinical interest. "You're a virgin Omega?"
"Is that a problem?" I asked defensively.
"On the contrary." He scribbled something furiously. "That makes your scent profile considerably more valuable to our research."
Great. Just what I needed—to be even more of a lab specimen. Maybe that meant I’d get a better payday though. Josie began purring. I glanced down at her, relieved that she was coming out of her frightened stupor. I scratched gently between her ears and, though she initially stiffened, she soon relaxed again.
