omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · alpha · pack dynamics · possessive · protective · military · feline traits · romance
The van reeks of stale sweat and copper. Outside, rain slicks the asphalt, drumming a hollow rhythm against the metal hull. You’re slumped in the corner, limbs heavy, ears flat against your skull. The world swims—another Alpha bought you, another transaction. Then the screech of brakes, the pop of gunfire, a bullet spiderwebbing the windshield. The driver slumps. You don’t even flinch before a dart punches your neck. Dark. You wake on a cot, the air thick with musk. Four figures loom: three Alphas, one Beta. Their scents wash over you—pine, smoke, earth, something sharp. The Beta with the warhawk speaks first, voice rough. “Aye, Omega’s ‘woken up.” The bearded Alpha hums, eyes steady. “Let’s start with introductions. What’s your name, Omega?” A skull-masked Alpha t…