Page 1 of The Sterling Acquisition
Chapter one
Quality Control
Dante
Thecorporatetransportwheezedto a stop outside what had once been Eastern Illinois University, back when universities existed and Illinois was more than a geographic designation on SVI territorial maps. Dante gathered his suitcase and stepped onto cracked pavement that would have made Gensyn’s safety division collectively faint from horror. Eight separate maintenance violations, minimum, all before he’d even reached the front entrance.
The air alone qualified as assault—industrial smog, unwashed bodies, and the thick soup of unfiltered pheromones that came from people living without scent scrubbers. In Gensyn territory, atmosphere processors neutralized designation signals to maintain productivity. Here, the raw scent cocktail of unregulated human biology hit like a wall: Alphas broadcasting dominance, Betas releasing stress markers, and scattered Omega notes creating a chaotic olfactory cacophony.
His nose wrinkled. Eight weeks. He could survive eight weeks of this for the sake of Project Tether.
Assuming he didn’t suffocate first.
The dormitory building loomed ahead, fourteen stories of brutalist concrete that someone had optimistically painted in cheerful yellow stripes. Sharp angles and exposed support beams stood in stark contrast to Gensyn’s sleek chrome and glass aesthetics. Where Gensyn’s architecture spoke of controlled efficiency and seamless integration, SVI’s buildings screamed of function over form, of strength through intimidation.
A banner stretched across the entrance proclaimed “Sterling-Vance Industries: Where YOU Forge YOUR Destiny!” in letters that had once been bright red but now looked more like dried blood.
Dante planned to meet his exchange program host, Leo James, at the transport drop-off for his housing assignment and welcome tour. Instead, he found himself in the middle of what appeared to be a street carnival, if carnivals involved betting pools and public violence.
A crowd gathered in the courtyard, maybe thirty SVI citizens forming a loose circle around two figures locked in combat. Money was changing hands with the fervor of a stock exchange, and someone set up a folding chair to get a better view. Children pressed against windows in the surrounding buildings, their faces bright with excitement.
“Five in-store credits says the Omega gets away this time!”
“Ten iscs says Leo catches him before he hits the perimeter!”
“How the hell did he get out of the apartment again?”
His Gensyn training automatically catalogued everything wrong with the situation: Public disturbances were inefficient. Gambling on company time reduced productivity. Allowing children to witness workplace violence was—
His thoughts ground to a halt.
In the center of the circle, a man in a torn business shirt was wrestling with an Omega in restraints. The Alpha—Leo James, Dante realized with growing horror—sported fresh scratches across his neck and what looked like a bite mark on his wrist. His left hand was missing two fingers, old injuries poorly healed.
The Omega was... magnificent.
Even muzzled, chained, and fighting like a cornered wildcat, he moved with deadly grace. The metal cage over his mouth was designed to prevent biting rather than silence the wearer, and his amber eyes burned with absolute, unbroken defiance. Dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his slender frame was all lean muscle and barely contained violence.
He was also wearing a leather harness that belonged in Dante’s more private fantasies, complete with attachment points that suggested this wasn’t Leo’s first rodeo with restraint equipment.
“Goddamn it, Orion!” Leo panted, trying to grab the chain attached to the Omega’s collar. “How the fuck did you get out? I changed the locks!”
Orion responded with a stream of clear, furious profanity. “Fuck your locks, you piece of shit!” He punctuated his response by spitting through the metal bars with impressive accuracy, nailing Leo’s white shirt square in the chest.
Dante found himself genuinely shocked by the language. In Gensyn territory, even the most heated disputes were conducted with sanitized euphemisms and polite corporate speak. He’d never heard anyone—Alpha, Beta, or Omega—use such raw, explicit profanity as casually as he used it in his own head.
It was appalling. And disturbingly arousing.
Dante’s training included extensive sessions on pheromone resistance and emotional control, techniques that earned him consistentlyperfect scores in his quarterly assessments. Yet here he was, pulse quickening at the sound of naughty words from a chained Omega in a corporate backwater. His bio-monitor would be logging elevated readings that would require explanation.
Orion tilted his head, studying Dante’s immaculate suit and corporate bearing—the pressed lines, the controlled posture, the way his dark hair was styled with military precision above cold gray eyes that missed nothing. Somehow, the Omega managed to convey both curiosity and contempt through a sneer. Then he turned back to Leo and executed a move that sent the Alpha sprawling into the dirt.
In Gensyn, if someone required physical restraint, it was handled quietly, clinically, behind closed doors with proper pharmaceutical support and psychological conditioning. The idea of wrestling a domestic asset in the street while neighbors placed bets was so far outside corporate protocol that Dante’s brain briefly short-circuited trying to process it.
“Jesus Christ,” Leo groaned, spitting dust. “Just... stay down for five seconds, okay? We have a corporate guest coming today.”
“Go fuck yourself, Leo.” Orion then looked Dante directly in the eyes. “The Gensyn suit can go fuck himself, too.”
They don’t make Omegas like this back home. He is feral.
