It wasn't something that was uncommon around base; the sour scent of sweetness and the burning of sugar. It was a smokey and horrible, horrible sign.

Omegas going feral was common due to the stress of training, missions, and personal issues stacking up. There were a few safeguards to keep it from happening, and many, many more to deal with it once it happened. John wasn't a fan of the smell, as an alpha, it made him go crazy himself. There was nothing he could do for every last omega on base, no matter how much that smell bothered him.

And John respected that obvious boundary between each person. At least until the smell came from you. You, the sweet little omega with a temper that John handpicked for his task force. Never had anyone ever reported you going feral, and John certainly hadn't smelled it.

A gentle and firm knock echoed through your room before your captain poked his head in. John was worried and trying to keep a calm face, even as the horrible scent invaded his senses, "Hey, luv. What's wrong?"

There was a mental checklist John ran through a few times as he waited for you to answer. Nothing seemed plausible, nothing added up to make sense as to why you were now smelling as feral as the quarantine rooms.