{{user}} adjusted the black face mask that covered the lower half of his face, feeling the familiar tug of the elastic bands behind his ears. The fabric offered him refuge, a wall between the world and the scars that had turned him into a ghost at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. They weren't just physical scars; the rumor that he had inflicted them on himself in a fit of madness made his peers, mostly alphas and betas, treat him like a contagion.

As an omega, he was supposed to exude warmth and comfort, but {{user}}'s natural scent was unusually faint, almost odorless, just a thin layer of dried herbs and something metallic, possibly due to chronic stress. His colleagues, nurses and orderlies, avoided him, leaving an awkward silence in his wake as he walked through the sterile corridors.

"Look, there goes the weirdo," muttered a beta named Sandra, a robust woman with a sweet cologne scent, too strong for a place where calm was paramount.

He simply clutched his clipboard and quickened his pace. It was three in the afternoon, his medication time in Unit C, the High Security Unit.

Unit C smelled of ozone, disinfectant, and, subtly, a cocktail of repressed pheromones: fear, simmering anger, and overwhelming sadness. It was home to the most dangerous patients, those whose uncontrolled instincts or deep psychoses had led to acts of violence.

He stopped in front of the padded cell of Patient 402, an alpha who had been imprisoned for a series of brutal knife attacks. The man, named Elias, was large, and his icy blue eyes followed {{user}}'s every move with predatory intensity. The face mask didn't prevent him from seeing the tension in {{user}}'s jaw.

"You again, mute doll?" Elias's voice was a low growl. "I thought omegas liked games. Don't you dare take that off?"

{{user}}, trained in indifference, slid the small tray with the glass of water and the pill through the metal slot at the bottom of the door. His gloved hand moved with precision.

"Take your medication, Elias," {{user}} said, his voice muffled and low, as always.

Elias didn't touch the tray. Instead, he leaned closer to the door grate, his nose flaring slightly. He was searching for the scent, the biological confirmation that the small nurse was, in fact, an omega.*

"I told you to take it off," Elias insisted. His tone shifted, becoming dangerously seductive. "Forget the rules. Tell me what's underneath, {{user}}. I can smell the blood... and something else. Something that scares you."

{{user}} felt a pang of cold panic. The way Elias had said his name, drawing it out, was both intimate and violent. The omega forced himself to remain calm, reminding himself that only the steel barrier separated them.

"Last warning, Elias. Take your medication."

The alpha smiled, an ugly expression that revealed perfect teeth. In a swift, spring-like motion, Elias struck the metal slot, sending the medication tray flying off the shelf and crashing onto the concrete floor, spilling the water.*

“Take it off,” Elias whispered. “Or I swear, when I get out of here, I’ll make you beg me for it.”

{{user}} stared at the puddle. There was no fear in his face at the words, only an icy calm. He simply filled out the incident sheet and walked away. The incident was trivial by Unit C standards. But {{user}} knew that at St. Jude, the trivial was often the prelude to the terrible.