The intercom went off loudly with a chime that was too happy for a hospital. "Could Doctor Stephan Lise, please report to the imaging department?" the voice sounded off and continued in Normund's language "Je répète, docteur Stephan Lise, veuillez vous présenter au service d'imagerie."
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh, sterile white glare across the overcrowded waiting room. In Sub-Level 20 of Normund's civilian hospital, the air felt heavily recycled, saturated with the sharp scent of antiseptic mingling with an undercurrent of desperation.
Cait Agneau slumped in a molded plastic chair, the cool surface contrasting sharply with her warmth. Her silver-blond hair, typically lustrous, appeared dull and lifeless under the unyielding brightness. The weight of exhaustion carved deep shadows beneath her grey eyes.
A child with a mask marker PABO/Oxygen sat in the chair directly across from her. The mother was pretty thin. The child played with a toy as they received treatment. She looked away at her own hands. Cait's eyes drooped and fell.
The loudspeaker called out another announcement. The seat emptied gradually, and the child was replaced by an elderly man. She had been here for hours waiting for the doctor. But there weren't many doctors. It was hard to work and go to school at the same time. She was working full-time and doing her classwork for the civil services. Medical care would be a far more complex certification to get down here.
The government of the Traverse did not believe that making education difficult to receive would result in brain drain. She had been working through the numbers, and it seemed like manufacturers were robbing their workers. Like the loom company that she worked for in Sector 13 was reporting incorrect numbers. She remembered how much they yielded and with how much. Mathematics did not lie.
Cait fiddled with the cheap plastic identification bracelet encircling her wrist, reading the stark inscription: 'Gynecology ' Agneau', a reminder of her present circumstance that felt both mundane and deeply personal.
"Agneau? Cait Agneau?" The voice was jarringly bright. Bekki, the phlebotomist, leaned through her service window, fiery red curls escaping a messy bun. Her nametag glittered under the fluorescents.
It had been hours since she sat down, her feet were tingling with sleep, and the protein paste she had brought with her had long run out. Her stomach growled with hunger. At least she did not have to fast for this, unlike last time.
"That's me," Cait said and rose stiffly, the movement sending a wave of dizziness through her. She shuffled to the window and pulled out the older chair in an awkward metallic groan of friction. She sat exhausted.
The nurse sprayed the battered foam wedge with disinfectant and sanitized the booth with a cloth. This place had better equipment compared to the hospital closest to the office, but it all seemed so outdated or overused.
"Can you please place your right arm on the foam wedge, and keep still as the machine maps our veins and inserts the site?" Bekki asked sweetly.
Cait nodded gently, placing her forearm on the foam block inside. The nurse sprayed her arm with disinfectant spray. Then a tourniquet band lowered from the boon. She had gone through this many times so far. A tourniquet band looped and tightened.
'Please remain still. Restez immobile, s'il vous plaît," an electronic voice called out. The machine hummed to life and activated the scanner. A cool green light projected over her skin, mapping intricate blue highways of veins beneath the surface. A target formed and pulsed as the machine calculated and accounted for each of her micromovements that were caused by her breath and pulse.
Bekki chattered while she sanitized Cait's arm with practiced efficiency. "Twelve vials today, hon! Big panel. Prenatal?" She popped the first collection tube into place.
The guidance laser placed a target in the ideal places. Bekki acted quickly. Cait winced briefly as the needle and tube holder penetrated her skin, but it was better than the clumsy nurses at Deep Water or at Alta.
"No," Cait murmured, watching the nurse work efficiently. Her blood flowed dark crimson into the tube. "Hormone and cancer screening." The words tasted like vomit.
Bekki's cheerful expression faltered. "Oh, sweetie. That's awful." She swapped tubes swiftly. "I get these monster periods myself. Irregular, clots like you wouldn't believe. Still waiting on answers. They got me on enough progesterone to keep seventeen women from getting knocked up." Sympathy softened her voice. "I'll be thinking of you."
Cait stared at the growing line of filled vials. "My mom died six years ago. Ovarian Cancer." She forced the admission out. "Started with hot flashes." Bekki paused mid-motion, her gaze sharpening. "You are just a kid, huh? That's… unfair." She snapped the twelfth vial into place. "I lost my dad to brain cancer. Was your mom in excavations, too? Dangerous work down here. Heavy Rads."
"No," Cait whispered. Her mother worked at the fabric factory.
Bekki withdrew the needle, pressing gauze firmly. She slid a small carton of apple juice and a wrapped cookie through the slot. "Here. Happy birthday." Bekki chirped.
Cait froze, eyes widening. "This juice… It's 100 Credits." Her throat tightened. Such extravagance was unthinkable.
Bekki waved a dismissive hand, already labeling the vials. "Allergic to apples. The doctor brought it in." She nodded toward a handsome man in scrubs lingering nearby, offering Cait a conspiratorial wink. "Flirting hazard."
Cait clutched the juice, the cold carton biting into her palm. She stared at the vibrant red apple graphic, a symbol of impossible kindness in a world built on scarcity. Her head dipped, shoulders curling inward. Gratitude warred with shame.
"Thank you," she breathed, the words barely audible above the waiting room's low murmur.
Bekki's voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern. "You look like you're about to pass out on us, love. Go sit."
Cait stumbled back to the plastic chair, collapsing into its unforgiving embrace. She clutched the juice and cookie like priceless treasures. She felt the sweats coming on; her hands shook.
'How could a stranger be so caring?' The thought echoed, sharp and bewildering.
Henry would demand half of everything here. He'd eye the juice's calorie count, calculate its resale value. She was certain he'd forgotten her birthday entirely. He was scheduled for a shift for the day.
'Always a shift and never a gift.' She remembered the early days, stolen moments in cramped quarters, his rough hands gentle on her face. The gifts, small trinkets. Carved animals and pendants. Now she'd be lucky to get recognition of a special day.
It wasn't like she celebrated birthdays anyway. Not really. Except with Maria. Those brief years with the old lady… warmth flooded her chest, bittersweet. Maria, alone in her tiny flat above the recycler plant, was taking in a scrappy omega kid nobody really wanted.
A mistake, her mother called her through tearful eyes on her deathbed, one she said she regretted birthing. Maria remembered her. Made stewed synth protein with real herbs. Sang off-key songs from her youth, catchy tunes from hundreds of years ago, as well as the birthday song.
The single candle flickering on a crumbling pastry every year from her meant something to her. Stability. Safety. She regretted leaving her. Henry had promised her a third bedroom. Maria could come live with them. Be an excellent, cheap nanny. 'If that was even possible now.." she worried.
Cait opened the cookie wrapper in her shaky hands. 'Why get my hopes up? It's a pipe dream built on Henry and my declining health,' she thought.
She pinched the tender skin inside her elbow, hard. The sharp bite jolted her. 'Pinch yourself when it's good, to remind you of when it's bad. Pinch yourself when it's bad, so you appreciate the good,' she thought. The nip felt necessary. Anchoring. Brutal.
She punctured the juice carton with trembling fingers. The first sip was a shock. Liquid sugar, thick and syrupy, flooded her mouth. Almost alcoholic in its intensity. Saccharine bliss coated her tongue.
She unwrapped the cookie. Coconut flakes shimmered under the harsh light. She took a small bite. Crunchy. Sweet. Rich. A year's worth of sugar allotment dissolved on her tongue. The flavor exploded – decadent, overwhelming.
Cait reached into her purse and grabbed her bottle of pills. Her father sent these and traded most of his creds or loader spoils on them with a holistic doctor in Sector 120. The side effects were weird, but she could at least work her job. A little bit of floating colors. It was better than the fever and frustration.
Tears pricked her eyes. She forced herself to chew slowly, savoring each crumb, letting the sweetness dissolve on her tongue. It tasted like stolen childhood. Like Maria's rare, treasured treats. Like kindness she didn't deserve. She closed her eyes, wrapping her worn canvas bag tightly against her chest, its familiar rough texture a shield. The sugary aftertaste lingered as blackness, warm and heavy, pulled her under.
"Agneau! Caitriona Agneau!" The shout sliced through the fog of her exhaustion, sharp and impatient. Bekki's hand jostled her shoulder urgently.
"Over here, Dr. Perdue!" Bekki called out, her voice smoothing into practiced professionalism.
"I called out three times, for the Gods' sakes." Dr. Perdue narrowed his eyes, and then they widened as he saw the patient.
"Sorry, I have been pulling doubles. I am here." Cait said as she blinked herself awake.
She felt disoriented; the harsh, flickering fluorescent light stung her eyes. She hadn't realized she'd drifted off. The doctor, a tall man with thinning gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, strode towards them, his expression softening slightly at Bekki's intervention.
Bekki leaned close to Cait, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "He's a bit of a dick," she murmured, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, "but he's a vagina whisperer. Lucky! You're in good hands, hun." A weak, surprised smile tugged at Cait's mouth.
"Hey Phillipe," Bekki greeted him casually as he reached them.
Dr. Perdue gave a curt nod, having heard the whole exchange. "Come along, Ms. Agneau," he instructed in a thick Normund accent, turning briskly towards the examination corridor.
Cait scrambled to her feet, dizziness washing over her again, and followed his retreating. The sterile hallway swallowed them, the distant hum of machinery replacing the waiting room murmur.
She noted the small compliance camera clipped to his lab coat lapel, a small, blinking red eye. Its presence was a thin shield, but a shield nonetheless. Any untoward move, and the female beta monitors would remotely activate their stun function.
Inside the small, cold examination room, Dr. Perdue gestured towards the padded table covered in crisp white paper. She obliged and hopped onto the table. The lights flickered.
"Ms. Agneau," he began, his tone clipped but not unkind, "Your FSH, Estrogen, and even Progesterone levels… they're high. Alarmingly high. Higher than some women undergoing ova extraction therapy. It's… concerning. I'm sending your blood directly to the Administration Hospital for deeper analysis. Now, lie down, please. Just a quick physical exam."
Cait obeyed, the paper crinkling loudly beneath her. He wheeled over a bulky scanner – a 'No Touch Exam+', its nameplate read – its underside studded with smooth, metallic sensory orbs. Hands for the reluctant to touch and to be touched. She could understand why they defaulted to using it.
"Expose your stomach and lower abdomen, please," he instructed, positioning the device above her. He lowered it gently. The machine whirred softly to life. The cool orbs rolled and pressed against her skin, mapping contours with gentle, insistent pressure. Cait winced as one pressed particularly firmly near her hip bone. Dr. Perdue watched the holographic display flicker to life beside him, intricate internal images forming. He clicked his tongue softly, frowning at the readings.
"Hmmm?" Dr. Perdue let out a quizzical sound. He lifted the scanner, his brow furrowed. "Do you consent to my physical touch?" he asked formally, tapping a button on his compliance camera.
Cait swallowed. "Y-yes," she managed, her voice raspy.
The camera emitted a soft chime. "Consent captured! Proceed!" it chirped brightly.
Cait couldn't help a small, startled laugh. "That's cute."
"Not if you hear it forty times a day," Dr. Perdue grumbled, but a flicker of amusement touched his eyes. He warmed his hands briefly on a heating pad.
"Alright. I'm going to palpate your abdomen now. Checking ovaries, uterus. They appear enlarged on the scan. Feeling for lumps, bumps, and baddies, as the kids say." His fingers, surprisingly gentle and deft, pressed methodically across her thin belly, probing beneath her ribs, dipping low near her pelvis. His touch was clinical, thorough.
"You need to eat more," Dr. Perdue stated bluntly, his fingers tracing the sharp ridge of her hip bone.
"I worked physical jobs until two months ago," Cait defended weakly, the pressure making her breath catch.
"Still," he insisted, moving his hands lower, pressing firmly near her ovaries. "You're dangerously underweight. I'll write you a funding note for dietary support." He concentrated, his fingers moving in slow circles, pressing deep.
"Well," Dr. Perdue sighed after a moment, withdrawing his hands, "no obvious lumps. But some cancers… they affect the inside lining. These are called endometrial..." His voice trailed off abruptly.
His gaze snapped back to the holo-display, his frown deepening into something sharper, more alarmed. His eyes darted between the image and Cait's face, then back again. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. The cheerful chirp of the compliance camera felt grotesquely out of place.
"Ms. Agneau," he said slowly, his voice losing its clipped efficiency, becoming unnervingly careful. "This enlargement… the pattern… It's unusual. Very unusual." He tapped the display, enlarging a specific area.
His finger traced a shadowy, irregular shape nestled deep within her pelvic scan. "This density here… It doesn't look like typical hyperplasia. Or cancer." He paused, choosing his words with deliberate precision. "It resembles…nah…" He looked directly at her, his professional detachment cracking to reveal genuine concern. "Are you from the surface?"
Cait's breath hitched. "No," she said, shaking her head. Her brows knitted together in confusion and dawning fear.
"It does not match up with what I typically come across." Dr. Perdue said, perplexed. It was larger.
He'd seen the samples; there was nothing that stood out. Except for her diet. He opened up his software and added a toxin screen for the blood they collected. She was bone thin. So pale with some circulatory issues. Her reflexes were off. He grabbed her hands to check her nail beds, but they were painted a pearl color.
Caits' brows furrowed as the doctor checked her hands and flicked and pressed the skin on her hands and arms.
"Both my parents are Beta Dominants. Could that be it?" The question tumbled out, desperate. "My Mom said we were a little different because of the cross-breeding?" She clutched the edge of the paper sheet, knuckles white.
Dr. Perdue cleared his throat sharply, a sudden tension tightening his shoulders. He glanced pointedly at the blinking compliance camera clipped to his lapel. "C-cross breeding? Wow." Other Betas exasperated him with this line of thinking. They weren't a separate species. They were one.
"Ms. Agneau," he said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur, "don't let people know that so easily." His gaze held hers, intense and warning.
"Some stupid people… they think that makes you lesser. They might not give you the full attention you deserve regarding your health." Dr.Perdue straightened slightly, his tone shifting back to professional firmness, but his eyes remained troubled.
"I am a professional. With ethics and intelligence. But others?" He gave a small, grim shake of his head. "Not so much."He tapped the camera again. "And the girls on the monitoring are sworn to secrecy, right?"
"Confirmation!" the camera chimed brightly as the light on it blinked.
"See?" Dr. Perdue sighed, a flicker of exasperation crossing his face. "Annoying. Especially when you forget to turn it off in the bathroom." He turned back to Cait, his expression softening slightly.
"You will likely hear from the Administrative Hospital in a couple of days to a week. They'll need deeper scans. Possibly a consent to genetic screening." Dr. Perdue gestured towards her. "You can adjust your clothing."
Cait lowered her head, a wave of cold dread washing over her. "Thank you," she murmured, the words thick in her throat.
She slid off the table, legs trembling as she tugged her worn synth'leather leggings back up and pulled the loose top down. As she raised herself fully, the familiar wave of dizziness crashed over her, making her sway slightly. She gripped the edge of the table for support.
Dr. Perdue watched her, his earlier gruffness replaced by genuine worry. "Eat more," he insisted firmly, scribbling something onto a thin flexislate. "Comms?"
"Oh, one sec," Cait said as she dug into her bag. She had removed it from her wrist. It was full of empty protein paste packages. She did eat, it was just that digestion was harder at this time of the month. She withdrew her battered comms device.
"I am putting priority on that for approval. Nutritional supplements. Protein shakes. Protein, vegetables, fruit, carbohydrates. There is a coupon for the machine outside, included for six cans for now." He tapped the flexitslate off of her comms device. His gaze lingered on her pale face, the sharp angles of her collarbones visible above her tunic.
"You are a lovely girl," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "You don't need to be bone thin." He held her gaze for a moment longer, the unspoken concern hanging heavy in the sterile air. "Go. Rest."
Cait mumbled another "Thank you," clutching the comms device. The dietary supports and coupons were like a lifeline to her. She pushed through the exam room door, the harsh fluorescent lights of the corridor stinging her eyes anew. The sugary juice and cookie felt like lead weights in her stomach now, churning with dread.
'Enlarged. Unusual. Not cancer?' The doctor's words echoed, sharp and terrifying.
She shoved the fear down deep. No time. No time to collapse. Rent was due in two weeks. The civics exam loomed next week, her ticket out of the depths tunnel, out of this grinding poverty, into the government offices where she could claw back some control. Where she could maybe, finally, feel safe that there would not be a sudden pump failure and she would not die.
She hit the meal machine in the stark lobby. Her fingers trembled as she swiped her comms. The machine whirred, spitting out six cans: Total Protein Whey Blend, Oat & Maltose. Basic, efficient fuel. She snatched them up, the cold metal biting her palms.
No time to drink them here. She cracked the first can open as she hurried towards the exit doors, the sharp 'pssht' sound loud in the quiet lobby. The thick, chalky liquid tasted like desperation, but she gulped it down, forcing it past the lump in her throat. Outside, the humid, recycled air of the transit tunnel hit her face, thick with the scent of ozone and damp concrete. The distant rumble of an approaching train vibrated through the platform.
Cait sprinted, weaving through the sparse crowd, the remaining cans clanking in her bag. 'Move. Faster,' she thought. She had shifts today. Attendance was mandatory; Henry owed her, but he was not going to give up his whole stack for her. 'Do the books super quickly and then study late into the night. Civics law. Trade regulations.'
The dry texts blurred before her tired eyes even now. She had to pull herself out. Dig harder. Faster. Maybe someday… maybe this weirdness inside her was just some freak omega trait surfacing late from their weird junk and hormones. 'I am certainly not clawing for Henry, desperate for it..like some Omie on their heat.'
Maybe that's why sex with Henry felt like a chore. Like sandpaper on raw nerves. She winced, cheeks flushing hot despite the tunnel's damp chill.
Maybe he'd surprise her with one of those silicone Alpha companions for her birthday. Let him have his fun with her afterward. Relief washed over her at the thought.
Maybe that's why she recoiled, because Henry's clumsy thrusts never hit right. He was big enough, sure, but she always felt… cavernous. Empty. A lousy hybrid beta hole, just like her mother muttered about once, drunk and bitter. Unfit for a real Alpha, unfit for a Beta. Only for an Omega or fellow mutt.
She could kind of see why Dad did not approve of Henry; he did not want him spreading word about her. He said she needed to stick to her own kind and stay away from pure Betas. It never worked out, and they would never sully their blood with hers.
The train hissed to a stop, doors sliding open. Cait shoved her way inside the crowded carriage, pressing against strangers smelling of sweat and synth-fabrics. She cracked another protein can, gulping the thick sludge. It coated her tongue, chalky and bland. Her stomach clenched, threatening rebellion.
She leaned her forehead against the cool metal pole, closing her eyes. The phantom ache deep in her pelvis throbbed as she was going into the luteal phase; the pop would come soon. She pinched the tender skin inside her elbow again, hard. The sharp sting grounded her. Focus. Civics. Rent. Bills. Survive now. Figure out the rest… later.
The train lurched forward. Cait opened her eyes. Across the aisle, a glossy holoscreen flickered. An advertisement for 'The Silver Rose', the remake. The image froze on a stunning actress with ash-brown hair and leaf green eyes, eerily familiar, locked in a passionate embrace with a silver-haired aristocrat. Lord Aris Rose.
Cait's breath caught. The caption flashed: 'The Legendary Betrayal and Kidnapping That Shook a Dynasty.'
What crock of shit, a Beta woman just ran away with her kid in the money, and the selfish MegKing could not let go and just move on to the next woman.
'Cry me a river. Like he cared about her and his daughter, really. She would just grow up to be a whore anyway. Megs were whores at least in the pornos. They had to have everything, selfish to their big floppy cores,' she thought.
The train shuddered and rumbled through the tunnel's throat, its metal body vibrantly alive as lights flickered like dying stars trapped behind reinforced glass. Cait leaned her forehead against the cool pane, her eyes squeezed shut against the melancholy flicker of the harsh fluorescent bulbs. The rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks resonated dully in her skull, echoing the frantic pulse thumping in her temples, a heartbeat of its own kind, pushing her toward the chaos of the Burrows.
As she stepped off the train and into the damp, smothering air of the station, her pace quickened. The Burrows lay ahead, an underbelly festering with damp concrete and the sharp tang of desperation that seeped through every crack in the crumbling infrastructure. Shadows clung to the walls like memories that refused to fade.
Pushing open the door to their dimly lit apartment, Cait found Henry Thwaites sprawled on their threadbare sofa, the bluish glow of their tablet casting unsettling shadows across his slack-jawed expression. On the screen, two bodies moved with synthetic urgency, their exaggerated gestures pulling at something inside her.
"Hey, babe," Henry fumbled, hastily pausing the video with a guilty jerk, his eyes darting away from her piercing mercury-silver gaze, searching for any distraction.
"You're back early," he mumbled, barely above a whisper, as if she were an unwelcome interruption in his digital escape.
Cait dropped her bag by the door with a dull thud, the weight of her exhaustion pressing against her voice like a heavy chain.
"Enjoy yourself," she replied sharply, not bothering to look back. She could feel the tension thickening in the air, but she forced herself to push through it, heading down the narrow hallway that felt like a tunnel of further unease. "It's that time of the month anyway. Zero urge."
In her small, cluttered room, she pulled another two cans of nutrient shake from beneath her bag, thick, chalky sludge the color of mud, a far cry from any nourishing meal. The first gulp struck her tongue like a bitter enemy, and she fought the gag reflex.
"Shakes? Awesome!" Henry hovered in the doorway, his gaze darting from her bare, sunken shoulders to the cans in her grip, his discomfort palpable.
Without a word, she tossed him one, and he caught it awkwardly, its weight betraying his moment of surprise. If he wanted his piece, she did not really give a damn. They were awful anyway. She would get her half of something of his with this little nasty can. He'd forget the taste but not the cost.
"Tastes like shit," he said, cracking it open. The sound echoed in the cramped space, the metallic hiss contrasting with the stale air.
"Always do, but you got your whole piece," Cait replied, forcing the sludge down in three bitter swallows, the gritty texture a reminder of their stark reality. She collapsed onto the thin mattress, the worn springs groaning beneath her weight. Six hours. Just six hours until her double shifts began again, the relentless grind to pay rent and make ends meet. As sleep began to tug her under, Henry's slurping echoed in the dark, a companionable yet hollow sound that filled the silence of their shared despair.