Page 106 of Shared Omega

We have failed.

I have failed.

CHAPTER 34: SLOANE

I wake up feeling like I’ve got the worst hangover in the history of humanity.

My head is throbbing with a dull ache, and my mouth is so dry that my tongue feels like masking tape on the roof of my mouth. Sharp pangs of hunger are gnawing at my empty stomach.

I ate before we set out from the Zone. How long have I been unconscious?

And more important, where the hell am I?

I crack my eyes open to find myself in a painfully bright room. It looks to be roughly twenty feet by twenty feet. I’m curled up against one wall, and the cold steel paneling is leeching the heat from my completely naked body.

The far wall is mostly taken up by a large window with a control room on the other side. As my burning eyes finally adjust, I realize that a familiar face is giving me a placid smile from the other side.

“Lance Corporal Sloane,” Dr. Frostgrave intones as pleasantly as his cold voice can manage. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been watching you sleep.”

“Yeah, that’s totally not creepy at all.”

Frostgrave’s eyes glide over my naked body, and I shiver.

“The body piercings are a particularly intriguing touch,” he says. “From a purely anthropological perspective that is. But I’m glad to see you are awake now, Sloane. How are you feeling?”

I feel like somebody sawed off the top of my skull, scooped out my brains, and took a massive shit inside my head before welding the lid back on. But I keep that to myself. I don’t want to give this jerk the satisfaction of knowing how crappy I feel.

I groan as I push my body into a seated position.

“I imagine,” Frostgrave says from behind his array of monitors, “that you feel rather unpleasant. My understanding is that the aftereffects of hypnoxin gas are comparable to a rather intense hangover. At any rate, that’s what I’ve been told. Personally, I’ve never experienced the effects of hypnoxin, nor have I ever had a hangover.”

Smug bastard.

I try to swallow, but my mouth and throat are as dry as a desert.

Frostgrave gestures toward one corner of the room.

“You may find that some food and water help to alleviate your discomfort.”

I glance where he’s pointing and realize there is a paper cup and a small styrofoam bowl. At first, I attempt to ignore the offer, but the clenching hunger in my gut gets the better of me. I’m still too weak to stand, so instead I crawl on my hands and knees across the room. I can feel Frostgrave’s eyes on my body the whole time.

It’s totally degrading.

The cup is filled with plain water. I take a sip to loosen my dry throat, and then I turn my attention to the bowl. It contains a quantity of lukewarm, half-congealed gruel. I can’t imagine a less appetizing meal, but right now I’m hungry enough to eat just about anything.

There’s no utensil of any kind, so I just sit down and start scooping the slimy porridge into my mouth with my fingers, devouring it greedily.

Frostgrave stares at me creepily as I stuff my face. A broad grin spreads across his face, and he nods with approval.

“Yes. Eat, eat. You’ll need your strength, omega.”

The way he says that last word suddenly brings everything crashing back, and I immediately realize I don’t know what has happened to my Alpha mates.

In a sudden surge of anger, I fling what’s left of my bowl at the window, sending a splatter of gruel across the glass in front of Frostgrave’s face.

“Tsk, tsk. You’re a bad little omega, aren’t you? We’ll have to see about getting you housebroken.”

“What have you done with my Alphas?” I shout, raising myself up on unsteady legs.