Page 72 of Reckless Consequences

“Everyone’s recovering as expected,” I tell him, adjusting his shoulder dressing without asking permission. “Mona has updates on the counteragent distribution. Global response agencies have integrated her protocols into emergency management.”

His nod carries satisfaction. “Quinn’s security?”

“Full perimeter, three-layer authentication, surveillance with AI recognition software.” I’ve learned to answer his security concerns with specifics rather than general reassurance. “Also, Aria has half the Omega Guardians staff watching entrance points. An impenetrable fortress.”

His tension eases slightly—trust earned through proven reliability.

“You should see Mona,” he says, noticing the message on my tablet. “We’ll manage here.”

The suggestion carries alpha authority softened by genuine consideration. In another life, in my family’s villa where omegas were decorative property, I would have bristled at being directed. Now I recognize the care beneath the command—his way of ensuring I meet professional obligations while taking care of myself.

“Try not to undo all my medical work while I’m gone,” I request, mostly serious. “I’ve used up our supply of the good painkillers on you three.”

Jinx’s grin shows predatory edges. “No promises, piccolo.”

Omega Guardians’ research division occupies the northwest section—furthest from residential wings, designed for both security and containment. Mona has transformed their primary laboratory into a chaotic scientific kingdom that somehow functions with terrifying efficiency.

I find her surrounded by holographic displays showing formula distribution maps, test results, and statistical models. Her typical manic energy has focused—still chaotic but channeled toward specific purpose. Her oleander scent carries notes of determination beneath chemical undertones from her work.

“Theo!” she exclaims, spinning toward me abruptly. “Progress report. Much success. Very scientific validation.”

Despite her fragmented speech, the data surrounding her tells a coherent story—Sterling’s formula neutralized in over eighty percent of distributed batches, affected individuals receiving successful treatment, statistical projection showing complete containment within two weeks.

“The pack doing well?” she asks, attention already divided between our conversation and three separate calculation models. “Finn’s rejection cascade particularly interesting. Very unusual immunological response.”

“He’s stable,” I confirm, studying the medical data with professional interest. “The treatment protocol is working.”

“Obviously.” Her pride shows no false modesty. “Designed specifically for Sterling formula molecular structure. Very precise targeting. Much scientific elegance.”

The laboratory door opens, admitting Aria with tablet in hand. Her usual vibrant energy has tempered with exhaustion from coordinating worldwide response efforts, but satisfaction radiates from her. Her floral scent carries notes of accomplishment despite lingering stress.

“You need to see this,” she says, activating the main display screen.

International news broadcast fills the wall—press conference where government officials stand alongside former Sterling scientists now providing evidence. The headline scrolls beneath in multiple languages: GLOBAL INVESTIGATION REVEALS UNAUTHORIZED DESIGNATION MANIPULATION PROGRAM.

“They’re exposing everything,” Aria explains, voice tight with emotion. “Not just the formula but the entire operation—designation trafficking, illegal experimentation, omega modification programs.”

The broadcast shifts to footage of underground facilities being raided—hidden research sites where test subjects were held, beta “treatment centers” serving as unwitting experimental stations, omega “enhancement” clinics performing unauthorized genetic modifications.

“My network,” Mona whispers, rare genuine emotion breaking through her chaotic façade. Her oleander scent sharpens with something almost like pride. “They found them.”

It clicks—the coordinates Mona provided investigators are yielding results, exposing not just Sterling’s crimes but the underground resistance she built over years of patient sabotage.

“The Beta treatment centers in Seattle and Prague have been secured,” Aria continues, scrolling through updates. “Subjects receiving medical intervention. Sterling’s executive board facing criminal charges in seventeen countries.”

The broadcast shifts to a press conference where a familiar face appears—Marcus, the security guard who helped us infiltrate Aurora. He speaks about his beta sister held in Sterling’s research program, his voice steady despite the horror he describes.

“They’re all coming forward,” Aria says, voice thick with emotion. “Guards, researchers, test subjects—everyone Roman threatened or blackmailed into silence. It’s like a dam breaking.”

Mona’s typical manic movement stills completely—a rare moment of stillness as she watches the world acknowledge the resistance she built piece by piece over years of patient sabotage.

“How many?” I ask.

“Eighty-seven facilities worldwide,” she answers, precision suggesting these numbers are burned into her memory. “Forty-three underground networks. Two hundred seventeen resistance operatives.”

It hits me then—just how far she’s reached. Not sabotage. Not revenge. A resistance network built across borders, through castes and codes. All of it seeded by the omega Roman thought he’d shattered. She wasn’t broken. She was building.

“You did this,” I say, recognition carrying genuine awe. “All these years. You were dismantling him from the inside.”

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