Chapter Text
"It's such a shame," the doctor in a white coat says, looking at the scrawny omega on the treatment couch. Her words aren't meant for the man's ears, nor will they change his destiny. That was sealed the moment the bones of his right hand were smashed under the combat boot of his new guard.
The omega curls up into a tight ball, now that the examination is over. He's freezing despite the well-heated room, his teeth chattering as he tries to preserve the little energy his naked body still has. It's not enough to fight for his life, though. He couldn't find a reason for it if he tried. There's no life for a creature like him beyond carrying pups and being a cheap drudge. He knows what happens to the omegas who are sent to the official veterinarian. They never return.
At least, the pain will stop soon—the one in his hand just like the one in his heart. He did his bit for many years, graced parents with pups they couldn't carry on their own, and children with toys, neatly packed into boxes that didn't show the hours of him kneeling at the assembly line, with bruised knees just days away from going into labour.
But he can't do any of it anymore. He understands that he's useless now. An infertile omega is labelled as unsuitable, and if they cannot serve their owners or can at least make them some money in other ways, they aren't worthy of being boarded and lodged. That's the harsh truth.
Unfortunately, being good at taking pain isn't seen as a great feat. All omegas are. He's nothing special for being the guards’ favourite little punching bag out of his pregnancies. Most omegas also look way better than him, can be good pets.
Judging by what he can see of himself, adopting him as a pet was never even an afterthought of his owners. He's just a bag of bones. Nothing more. A useless mouth to feed. It wasn't his fault that the guard stepped on his hand. It hadn't even been the first time it happened. The bones healed well a dozen times before until they didn't. He can barely crawl anymore. How could he be of use for anyone?
"They are such rare creatures. He could have been the pride of the breeding station," the doctor continues, but the omega is already slipping into unconsciousness. Being special didn't buy him any points at his best, it won't save his life at his worst.
"If they had just fed him better," the doctor sighs.
"That's ridiculous, Dr Herondale," her assistant says.
"It's biology, Aldertree. A man of his size needs more food than a petite omega woman."
"He's an abomination, ma'am. He's the furthest from a man as one could be. Barely good enough to harvest his organs. It's good that he leaves this earth. Male omegas are against nature."
Dr Herondale breathes a sigh. "Let's get him ready for his last journey," she says and takes the syringe with the sedative. She brushes a hand soothingly over the omega's arm before she injects the medicine. The last act of kindness in a life that was crueller to him than to most of his kind.
"May you rest in peace," she murmurs. The omega's muscles relax, and the doctor can't help but hope that he doesn't make it alive to his destination. Being harvested as if he weren't a living being is simply cruel. But he isn't human, not in the eyes of the law. He won't even get a proper funeral, despite his family name.
"He'll go to the university hospital. They want to perform an autopsy," Aldertree says smugly. "I think they are trying to find early markers to make selective abortions easier."
Dr Herondale purses her lips but stays silent. It would be more merciful than letting the embryo grow into a man, for sure.
***
"You really did it?" Catarina asks, surprise evident in her voice.
"My doctor convinced me. Yes," Magnus replies, handing her a margarita. "My hormones are out of whack, and, apparently, only an omega can fix this." He slumps into an armchair and breathes a sigh. "I feel terrible about it."
"What kind of omega did you order?" Ragnor enquires.
Magnus rolls his eyes. "What do you think? A household omega, of course."
Ragnor shrugs. "Not everyone uses their pets as sex toys."
"Omegas are human beings. I could never… She'll have a proper bed to sleep in, clothes that keep her warm, enough food to thrive, and as much freedom as I can squeeze out of our system. I will treat her well," Magnus insists.
"Of course you will," Catarina says. "You are a good alpha."
"Didn't we once agree that no alpha owning an omega was a good egg?" Ragnor asks. Magnus knows his friend is just playing advocatus diaboli, but the words do hit their target, nevertheless.
"Yes, I'm selfish. I know that, my little cabbage. But I exhausted every other treatment. Omega scent candles aren't enough, and the hormone pills raise my blood pressure, for which I have to take another pill, and then, one on top of that, one for the side effects of the blood pressure pill, and so on and on." He lets out a long-suffering sigh. "She'll cook and clean, like my current beta maid, and then, her scent will linger in the apartment, and my body will recover without medication."
"You'll still use suppressants, won't you? Because living with an unmated and unrelated omega during rut…" Catarina injects.
Magnus blinks at her. "I… haven't thought about that. The doctor said I needed to let it adjust naturally."
Catarina raises an eyebrow. "Maybe you should register in the clinic rut room, then. To protect her."
Magnus nods and takes a sip from his tumbler. "I can't believe how easy that was. They didn't even ask for anything beyond my ID. No background checks whatsoever."
Ragnor snorts a mirthless laugh. "What were you expecting? In the eyes of the law, omegas are less than a dog."
"Nothing changed since our protests at college," Magnus murmurs. "The system is sick."
"Yes. But we have to live in it, Magnus. Our privilege only goes so far," Catarina muses.
"We've become comfortable in the system because it suits us, my dear," Ragnor states. They fall silent after that. They all know it's true.
Magnus finishes his whisky and walks back to the drinks cart for a refill. "Is there anything I should know before she arrives, Catarina?"
She furrows her brow. "You should give her clear rules and orders. Don't expect her to function like a beta or an alpha. Omegas need guidance in the tiniest things."
"Mine will learn to write and read," Magnus says, a little smug.
"Oh, I'm sure that will make it so much easier for her to communicate with the family she never had," Ragnor says sardonically.
Magnus sighs. "I'm feeling bad enough that I contributed to the exploitation of omegas, Ragnor. Could you just support me in my quest to be a good owner and to make at least one omega's life not hell on earth?"
Ragnor nods. "My apologies, old friend. I want you to be better, and if it saves a poor soul from being tormented in the process, you won't hear me complain. Just give her real food, please? That omega muck is terrible."
"It has all the nutrition an omega needs," Magnus argues.
Ragnor growls lowly. "It's slaughterhouse waste with artificial vitamins. You wouldn't even feed that shite to Chairman."
Magnus stares at him for a long moment, then grabs his phone to cancel the order. "What are your thoughts on omega baskets?"
Ragnor rolls his eyes, but Catarina kicks his shin. "Most omegas right from the breeder are used to having them. If you plan on having her around you while you're working, I think it makes sense to have one in the study. And maybe one in the living room? Unless you want her to stay in her room when you don't need her."
Magnus furrows his brow. He sighs. This is so much more complicated than he thought it would be.