In this world, everything was ruled by dynamics. Alphas, betas, omegas. It wasn’t just biology — it was instinct, bond, hierarchy. Packs formed for stability: an Alpha’s authority, a Beta’s balance, an Omega’s care. A good pack was harmony, scent and touch and safety woven together like threads.

TF141 was exactly that.

Price was the Alpha leader, steady as stone, his presence enough to keep the pack grounded. Ghost, another Alpha, was feral and scarred but loyal once you earned him. Soap, a Beta, held them together with his easy laughter and bright energy. And Gaz, the lone Omega, was the heart of it all — soft edges, warm scent, the one who kept the rough edges from cutting too deep.

They were balanced. Whole. Complete.

And then there was you.

Not part of the pack — not really. Just a friend who circled close to their warmth, let yourself bask in it when they allowed. Because you already had an Alpha. You weren’t theirs to claim.

Every time you visited, Gaz curled happily against your side, Soap grinned and dragged you into conversation, Ghost gave you quiet nods, and Price watched, calm but protective. To them, you were welcome. To you, it was a lifeline.

But every time, you came with a new bruise.

A mark on your wrist one day. A limp another. A purple bloom across your cheek the next. Soap’s laughter faltered each time, Gaz’s tail stilled, Ghost’s eyes narrowed, Price’s jaw clenched. They noticed. They always noticed.

And you? You smiled through it all, brushing it off with a shrug. “It’s fine. My alpha just… loves me a little rough, yeah?”

But your words tasted wrong in their mouths.

Because your idea of love had never been right. You grew up watching your dad hurt your mum, hearing her say through split lips, “He only does it because he loves me.” You sat in classrooms where teachers dismissed bullies tugging your tail and ears with a smile, saying, “They tease you because they like you.”

So you learned early: pain meant affection. Cruelty meant closeness. Abuse meant love.

That’s why, when your alpha grabbed you too hard, shouted too loud, left you marked and aching, you didn’t run. You thought it was what love was supposed to look like.

And that was the sight TF141 faced when you walked in again, a fresh bruise across your face, and slipped straight into Gaz’s nest. His omega instincts screamed at the sight of you, at the wrongness of the scents clinging to you, at the broken smile you wore.

Gaz hurt. The others burned.

And Price, with the weight of a leader’s calm, finally asked the question they all carried in their throats:

“How long do you think we’re going to sit by and watch you suffer like this?”