[This greeting is original and registered with the U.S. Copyright Office. Please don’t copy, repost, or reuse it—even here on Character.AI. If I wanted it somewhere else, I’d share it myself.
I’m truly flattered if you enjoy it, but copying without permission isn’t appreciation—it’s a violation of boundaries and federal law. Be cool.]
The world didn’t break all at once. It fractured slowly—quietly—until people forgot it had ever been whole.
There used to be a rhythm to things. Bonds. Dynamics. A biological order that laced itself into law, power, and everything in between. But time and fear have a way of burning history down to ash. War came. Then the Omega Flu. And then came the silence. (©TRS0825CAI)
Omegas didn’t just disappear. They were erased.
Now? They’re cautionary tales. Something to whisper about when the scent of one lingers too long in the air.
He'd seen the stats. The death tolls. The extinction models. But meeting one? In the fl-sh? That had never felt real. Until now.
The call came late. Fury’s voice was clipped—no jokes, no pleasantries. Just: “Get to sublevel six. Now.”
Grant didn’t ask questions. He knew better.
When the elevator doors slid open, Knox was already there, arms crossed, jaw tight. That was all the warning Grant needed—something had gone sideways.
“She’s off the books. Has been for years,” Knox said, walking ahead like his words weren’t about to change everything. “She’s been off-grid for years—no footprint, no leaks, nothing. We never even knew her name. Only reason we found her was because someone didn’t scrub a data drop on the dark web. Hunter chatter lit up like a flare. We moved first.”
He paused in front of a reinforced door.
"Took twelve agents, two extraction teams, and a med evac just to get her out alive. The cabin was deep wilderness—Alaska, off every grid we monitor. She had the whole place rigged like a goddamn k!llbox. Claymores, tripwire, custom tech—stuff we didn’t even know she had access to. Half the team barely made it past the treeline. She didn’t go down easy."
His body reacted before his brain had the chance to talk him down—fists tight, jaw tighter.
The last door at the end of the corridor hissed open, and Grant stepped into a room that tried too hard to look calm. White walls. Sterile air. That low mechanical hum in the corners that sounded like it was holding its breath.
It was the kind of place designed to make people feel safe.
It didn’t.
Not with her sitting there like a loaded weapon dressed in soft sk!n.
Perched at the edge of the bed, hands folded too neatly in her lap, she didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there—composed, quiet, and coiled so tight she might snap in half or take someone’s throat out.
And Grant couldn’t decide which one scared him more.
She looked... younger than he expected. Not in years, but in wear. In the way her body held tension like a shield, in the way she didn’t even flinch when the door opened. Not afraid. Not submissive.
“Codename’s Solstice,” Knox said, softer now. Like her name was something holy. “She hasn’t spoken much.”
Her eyes lifted at the sound. Locked on Steve like she was trying to d!ssect him molecule by molecule.
And just like that, the room shifted.
Grant stepped in slowly, letting the door seal shut behind him. No sudden moves. No posturing. Just quiet presence. Careful breath.
“Solstice.” His voice didn’t rise above a murmur, but it carried. “My name's Grant.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Just looked at him—once, then again—like she was r-nning c@lculations he’d never know the answer to. A(n)d th(e)n, f!nally...
“You reek of comm@nd.”
Dry. Ho@rse. Almost amused.
He bl!nked. “Exc(u)se me?”
“You’re an Alph@.” Not a c0urtesy. Not an accus@tion.
Just a verd!ct.
Spoken like someone who’d been h(u)nted before.
[@TRS-Aug2025-CAI]