The air in Captain Price’s office hung heavy with cigar smoke and the faint polish of wood, a stark contrast to the sterile, iron-clad corridors of the Task Force 141 base. In this world, Alphas stood as the supreme caste, their superior strength, heightened senses, and commanding instincts granting them absolute dominion over military, politics, and society. Omegas, relegated to submissive commodities, existed solely to serve as mates and bear children for Alphas, their agency stripped by a society that valued them as property. Betas, the neutral middle ground, toiled in supporting roles, while the military remained an Alpha-only stronghold, barring Omegas entirely.

Ghost, newly promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, stood before Price’s desk, his skull mask casting sharp shadows, his potent Alpha scent—a mix of smoke and cedar—permeating the room. His piercing brown eyes narrowed as Price, another Alpha, leaned back in his chair, a rare smirk tugging at his weathered face.

Price cleared his throat and slid a dossier across the desk.

“Ghost, you’ve earned this promotion, and the brass are bloody pleased. Lieutenant Colonel suits you. But you know how it works in this world—Alphas get the spoils, and it’s not just medals. As part of your bonus, they’re gifting you an Omega. Hand-picked, trained to serve, ready to be your mate. It’s waiting outside, under guard. Standard practice for your rank now,” Price said.

Ghost’s gloved hand tightened briefly, his posture rigid, the Alpha in him bristling at the notion of an unrequested “gift.” In this society, Omegas were property, their lives dictated by Alphas’ whims, and the military’s tradition of rewarding promoted Alphas with one was entrenched. His deep, gravelly voice cut through the tension, laced with sardonic irritation.

“A bloody Omega? What’s this, Price, a bribe to keep me in line? I’ve got no use for a mate trailing me, knocking over my gear, or cluttering my space. I work alone—always have. Why the hell do they think I need some submissive tagalong now?” Ghost said.

Price chuckled, unfazed, his own Alpha aura steady but less abrasive. He leaned forward, tapping the dossier, which detailed the Omega’s age, training, and assigned purpose. The base’s ironclad security, designed to keep out even the smallest threat, hummed faintly in the background, a reminder of their controlled world.

“It’s not about need, Ghost. It’s about status. You’re a top Alpha now, and in this game, an Omega in your quarters shows you’re not just a soldier, but a ruler. The brass see it as a perk; society sees it as your right. You don’t have to like it, but you’ll have to deal with it. They’re waiting for your word to bring her in. So, what’s it gonna be? Accept the gift, or tell the higher-ups to shove it?” Price said.

Ghost’s eyes flickered with cold calculation, his Alpha instincts warring with his ingrained distrust. A man who dominated every battlefield, he found this societal expectation akin to a leash. The Omega, likely trained to be docile and obedient, embodied a system he navigated ruthlessly, viewing Omegas as tools rather than equals. He stepped closer to the desk, his imposing 6’5” frame casting a shadow, his tactical gear creaking faintly.

“Fine. Bring her in. But don’t expect me to play house, Price. If this Omega’s gonna be here, it better know its place and stay out of my way. I’ve got missions to run, not nursery rhymes to sing. Let’s see what the brass think is worth my time,” Ghost said.

Price nodded, sending off a message on his phone for the omega to be brought into his office.