Chapter Text
In the dining hall, the other omegas were quietly spooning their soup at long, lined-up tables; no one was speaking loudly. Vox stared at the plate in front of him, feeling his stomach churn. The oily rings on the surface of the soup completely killed his appetite. He hadn't eaten anything substantial for three days, just drinking water, and sometimes, when he couldn't bear it, taking a piece of dry bread from the passing guard. His hands began to tremble under the table.
Directly across from him, Mina was complaining to her girlfriend beside her in a whiny tone. "I got the radio demon, you know? Ever since that sperm donation procedure, it's been almost two months, and he hasn't even come near me. He just sits. Sits and talks. Sometimes he plays that weird, crackly music of his. What am I supposed to do now?"
The girl next to her, Lucia, seemed immersed in her soup. "Maybe he likes spending time with you," she said, setting her spoon down in her bowl. "Some alphas are like that; they like to talk."
Mina rolled her eyes. "I like him to do his job, not talk. It's like he's forgotten why we're here." She crossed her arms. "The other donors at least... you know. They do something."
The distance and coldness Mina was complaining about sounded like heaven to Vox. Vox's partner was neither cold nor distant. On the contrary, he was too close, his breath always on the back of his neck, his hands everywhere. Vox suddenly stood up, he felt his head spin slightly for a moment and tried to steady himself.
As he left the room, he heard Mina's grumble: "Didn't eat anything again? He's turning into a skeleton."
He stepped into the hallway, he needed his meds. He walked toward his room, and when he pulled the pill box from the hidden slot behind his cabinet, his hands trembled even more violently. He opened the lid. It was empty.
For a moment, he thought he'd looked in the wrong place. He stuck his hand into the slot, finding nothing but dust. He collapsed to the floor. Someone had taken them. One of the others. Maybe Mina's friend, maybe someone else. They knew his weakness, his need, and they'd made this little power play.
He stood up, stuffing the pill box into his pocket. As he walked down the hallway, he heard voices coming from the far end. Mina's familiar, fake laughter and beside it, a lower, flat voice. Alastor.
Vox couldn't help glancing inside through the open door of the lounge. Mina, all dolled up, was smiling at Alastor, lightly touching his arm. Alastor looked impeccable as always. Dark suit, fixed and cold smile. His eyes shifted to Vox standing in the hallway. Just for a very brief moment. That fleeting glance froze Vox for an instant. He was aware of how wretched he looked. His shirt hung loosely on him, his face pale.
He hurried away from there. From behind, Mina's voice came: "Don't look at him. He's always like that. Trying to get attention here. Doesn't eat, doesn't drink, pretends to be sick."
There was no response from Alastor.
That night, Vox woke up after midnight. He was drenched in sweat. He decided to take off his pajama top. He got up and went to the sink. In the mirror, he saw the prominent ridges of his ribs, the lines of his collarbones. Then, he slowly turned around. On his waist, the left side, there was a bruised mark that hadn't fully healed yet. The trace of violence from the guard who had given him the news of the positive pregnancy test, under the guise of celebration. He lightly touched it with his fingertips. It hurt.
He turned back to the mirror, placing his hands on his stomach. He couldn't believe something was starting to grow inside him. This body, these bones, these wounds... Could a child grow here? Even if it did, what would happen to it? Would it turn out like the others? Like Mina? Or like him, constantly in fear, with meds stolen, unable to eat?
A deep unease enveloped him. He didn't put his top back on; he just lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for morning to come.
The next day, in the dim corner of the dining hall, Alastor was sitting under the pretense of an official visit. On the table, an untouched cup of tea was cooling in front of him. His eyes followed Vox at the other end of the room, who was quietly stirring his own bowl. Alastor's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table in an almost imperceptible rhythm.
This silent observation was interrupted by a stocky guard entering through the room's door and walking quickly toward him. The man came up to Alastor, leaned in, and spoke in a lowered voice, but his tone was more accusatory than friendly.
"Mr. Alastor. Your frequent visits are an honor for us, of course. However... I need to bring up a certain matter." The guard turned his head toward where Vox was. "It's noticeable that you're taking a special interest in him. You're observing."
Alastor slowly turned his head to the guard. "All the valuable... participants in your facility interest me. Quality control, you understand."
The guard grinned with an unconvincing smile. "Of course, of course, but your standard donor package covers limited interactions with specific individuals. If you want to expand your interests, examine another... object more closely, that requires an extra agreement. Extra fee, naturally."
Alastor's expression didn't change, but he held the tea cup's handle with his thumb and index finger, without even moving the cup. "You're coming with an unofficial offer, I assume. Off the record."
The guard straightened up slightly, pleased. "Of course. Your official donation agreement is separate. This... would be an extra courtesy gesture."
Alastor turned his eyes back to Vox. At that moment, Vox had pushed his bowl away and was staring out the window. "Send me the details and figures in writing," Alastor murmured, without looking at the guard. "Not now."
The guard nodded approvingly and turned to leave the room. Alastor watched Vox's face for another moment. Then, leaving his untouched tea, he stood up. As he left the hall, he ignored the glance and smile Mina sent him from the other table.
Hours later at the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor sat on a bar stool, leaning his elbows on the counter. Husk was busy cleaning a glass across from him, pretending not to notice Alastor when he first arrived.
"Husk, my dear friend," Alastor drawled, "I need advice on a vital matter."
"Money?"
"Yes, at its core, money."
"Of course," Husk grumbled, setting the glass down in front of him. "Boss, how much do you think I make here a year?"
Alastor tapped his fingers on the bar counter. "I'm aware, I'm aware, but I need an urgent capital injection. A significant, quick amount."
Husk studied his face. He rarely saw Alastor looking so openly unsettled. "What happened? Did you scare someone, and now you have to pay compensation?"
"Worse," Alastor replied, unusually serious. "I need to... buy someone."
In the following hours, simple plastic chairs were lined up in a single row in the education room for the omegas to sit.
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman entered, dressed in formal attire. Her face showed the patience that came from years of doing this job, along with a faint hint of weariness. "Good morning," she called out. "Today's topic is proper communication techniques with your alpha partners and the basic expected etiquette rules." She began writing a few points on the board. Proper posture during physical contact, understanding and responding to verbal requests, acceptable objection phrases.
"First of all," Ms. Hilda said, picking up one of the brochures, "physical contact always begins under your partner's leadership and guidance. Your role is to comply and respond with accepting body language." Lucia in the front row was listening attentively, nodding her head. Mina, on the other hand, was leaning back slightly, with an air of already knowing all this.
"Now," said Ms. Hilda, "I need a volunteer to demonstrate the proper posture." Her eyes scanned the room. A few omegas immediately averted their gazes. Ms. Hilda's eyes landed on Vox at the back. "You. Come to the front."
Vox flinched. He walked forward with slow steps. A faint, mocking curl appeared on Mina's lips.
"What's your name?"
"Vox," Vox's voice cracked on the first syllable. He tried again. "Vox."
"Alright, Vox. Our scenario is simple. Now, think of me as your alpha partner. I'm approaching." Ms. Hilda approached Vox with exaggeratedly slow steps. "The first contact is usually on the shoulder or back area. What should your reaction be?"
Ms. Hilda's approaching body reminded Vox of his own partner's dominant presence. He started to sweat.
"You shouldn't pull back," Ms. Hilda instructed, her voice hardening a bit. "Turn slightly toward me, without bowing your head too low." Her hand extended toward his back. In a sudden panic, Vox stepped back. His foot caught on the table leg, and he stumbled. The plastic model and a few brochures on the table fell to the ground and scattered.
The room fell silent. Vox stared at the fallen items. His face was flushed red with embarrassment.
Ms. Hilda took a deep breath. There was clear disappointment on her face. "Vox," she said. "We're trying to teach the basics here. If you can't even follow the simplest instructions, that's a big problem for you and your partner."
Vox didn't make a sound. He just bowed his head and tried to gather the brochures from the floor.
Ms. Hilda took the brochures from Vox's hands. "Go back to your seat," she said curtly, as if she no longer wanted to deal with him. "Be more careful next time."
Vox made his way back to his seat in the rear. When he sat down, he couldn't stop his body from trembling. He tucked his hands under his thighs, but even that didn't hide the shaking.