Page 21 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

This new omega had no understanding of the complex game being played, no comprehension of the escape route we'd spent years meticulously constructing.

Without Jinx's strategic guidance, the carefully laid plans collapsed.

Subdivision Zero—officially designated as K.Y.F.M. Operative Unit—found itself trapped in a loop with no exit parameter. The twin remained terrified of us despite biological compatibility, unable to trust the alphas her sister had selected with such care.

Eventually, they separated us completely, returning each to our designated level while the twin was subjected to specialized testing protocols as Patient 495.

Our Jinx simply...vanished.

"Four hundred and seventy-nine."

The political dimensions of our imprisonment become clearer with each passing year. This isn't merely scientific research or experimental protocol—it's entertainment and commodity trading for those with power and resources to access the program.

I've seen them occasionally—the observers who aren't scientists or security personnel. Well-dressed individuals with the unmistakable bearing of wealth and influence, watching from carefully concealed viewing areas they believe remain undetected by test subjects.

They place wagers on outcomes, treating life-and-death struggles as sport. Congressional leaders, corporate executives, heads of federal agencies—all participating in this shadow economy of alpha-omega trafficking disguised as legitimate research.

The Parazodiac Nexus—the organizational structure Jinx had mapped with such precision—extends far beyond Ravenscroft's walls, reaching into every level of power and authority. A conspiracy not of ideology but of access and privilege, of maintaining control over genetic resources that represent the future of human evolution.

And at its center, the elaborate maze only she had managed to navigate successfully. The system of levels and trials and assessments designed to identify optimal alpha-omega pairings while maintaining the illusion of scientific purpose.

No other omega has understood its true nature.

None have recognized the deliberate pattern of selection and elimination that serves purposes far beyond mere data collection.

"Four hundred and eighty."

I complete the final repetition of my current set, holding position at the apex of movement for ten additional seconds before lowering slowly.

My muscles quiver with fatigue—not from the exercise itself but from the cumulative effect of years spent in controlled physical stress.

The formation of alphas below shifts slightly, anticipation building as they recognize the conclusion of my pre-judgment ritual. They've learned the patterns, understand that assessment follows physical conditioning with mathematical precision.

Their fear permeates the air, a pheromone cocktail that once would have triggered instinctive response, but now registers merely as a data point in an ongoing evaluation.

I've developed resistance to most chemical triggers they employ—necessity for maintaining cognitive function in an environment deliberately designed to compromise rational thought.

I rotate slowly in my suspended position, surveying the subjects awaiting judgment.

Twenty-seven alphas of varying ages, physical conditions, and psychological profiles. Each believing their fate rests in my hands, none understanding that I merely confirm predetermined outcomes based on metrics established long before they entered this chamber.

The doors at the far end of the judgment floor slide open with pneumatic precision, revealing three figures entering with measured steps. Two wear the standard white laboratory coats of Ravenscroft researchers, their expression carrying the familiar clinical detachment of those who view test subjects as walking data points rather than sentient beings.

The third...

My rotation stops abruptly as recognition registers.

Charles Press himself walks between the researchers, his expensive suit immaculate as always, surgically enhanced features arranged in the practiced expression of benevolent authority he employs when manipulating test subjects.

I haven't seen him in years—not since that final confrontation when freedom seemed within reach only to dissolve into renewed captivity.

Not since he took her from us.

Something dangerous stirs beneath carefully maintained control—alpha rage I've suppressed through years of disciplined restraint. The instinctive response to his presence floods my system with combat hormones, triggering physiological preparation for violence I cannot allow myself to display.

Control. Observation. Analysis.

I force my breathing to remain steady, employing meditation techniques developed through years of judicial practice and refined during extended captivity.

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