20. Destined To Choose
20
DESTINED TO CHOOSE
~NYX~
M y finger hovers over the trigger, muscles coiled with lethal purpose born from years of conditioning. Every enhanced sense stretches toward the approaching threat, my body humming with the familiar dance of survival.
But the scent hits me first – that distinctive blend of pine needles and leather that's quickly becoming synonymous with safety.
The shadows stir in recognition, their silence breaking into subtle whispers of acknowledgment.
Atlas.
The gun lowers halfway, maintaining readiness while granting the benefit of doubt. Years of torture have taught me the value of caution, even when instinct screams for security.
His frame appears at the corridor's end, head tilting in that precise way I'm learning to read. Even through the silk wrap, I feel the weight of his attention as it sweeps our position.
"Goddess?"
The title carries notes of confusion and concern, layered with something darker as his blind gaze settles on Vale's collapsed form behind me. The air grows heavy with alpha pheromones – protection and possession warring in equal measure.
"Here, Atlas," the words rush from my lips as fear claws through my chest. "Vale's hurt?"
Uncertainty shapes the statement into a question, my eyes fixed on his violently spasming legs. The sight creates an unfamiliar tightness in my throat, dread seeping through my veins at signs I dare not interpret.
Bleeding out?
Near death?
Moments from slipping away forever?
Raw instinct surges beneath my skin – an overwhelming urge to protect that catches me completely off guard. The shadows remain oddly quiet, offering no guidance through these foreign emotions.
Nothing in my years of conditioning prepared me for this visceral need to shield an alpha from harm.
Atlas moves with lethal grace, crossing the distance between us in fluid strides that belie his blindness. Vale's curse of protest cuts through the tension, insisting he's fine even as another spasm wrenches a hiss of agony from his throat.
My shoulders sink beneath the weight of helplessness while my fingers clench white-knuckled around the gun. Fear tastes metallic on my tongue – fear not of death or pain or recapture, but of watching this alpha slip away moments after finding him.
First meeting.
Final farewell.
Beginning and ending compressed into heartbeats.
Atlas drops to one knee beside Vale, radiating contained fury through his controlled movements.
"I told you," each word carries deadly precision.
"Know you did," Vale manages through gritted teeth. "Fuck...didn't think it'd hurt this bad."
"Yeah, because you remember everything about everyone else but conveniently forget yourself." Atlas's tone could freeze hell itself. "You're in so much fucking trouble if we make it out of here."
A weak laugh escapes Vale.
"Figured that. Priority is getting Nyx out though."
"They're initiating final lockdown," Atlas counters, silk wrap shifting as his head tilts toward blaring alarms. "Leave you here, we won't get back in."
"Not risking her when we just found her." Vale's words carry steel despite his obvious agony.
"Should've considered that before leaving the fucking van against orders." Fury bleeds through Atlas's careful control. "Must love being left behind during missions since you clearly can't follow simple fucking instructions."
Vale's groan carries notes of both pain and exasperation.
"Can you wait to scold me until after getting Nyx clear? Give me some dignity in front of her at least."
"Dignity?" Atlas's laugh holds no warmth. "Lost the right to dignity when you injected that shit knowing the consequences. So shut the fuck up about it or I'll enjoy embarrassing you now AND in front of the entire pack later."
Vale subsides into sullen silence, though another violent spasm betrays his continued suffering. Before I can process the implications of their exchange, Atlas rises with preternatural speed that steals my breath.
His height forces me to tilt my head back as he faces me, but it's the gentle press of his palm against my cheek that freezes my thoughts completely.
The shadows stir with interest at this alpha who moves through the darkness with such deadly grace yet touches me like I'm made of precious glass.
The contrast between his earlier fury and current tenderness leaves me reeling. His ability to shift between ruthless pack leader and gentle protector defies everything I thought I knew about alphas.
Everything Ravenscroft taught about their brutality and domination fades beneath the careful weight of his touch.
Vale's pained breathing reminds me of our precarious situation, but I can't tear my gaze from Atlas's blindfolded face. His proximity wreaks havoc with my senses – pine and leather mixing with Vale's rain-washed mountain air until my head spins with competing alpha pheromones.
Two alphas. Two scents. Two pulls on my newly awakened omega instincts.
The shadows whisper in confusion, as lost as I am in this unprecedented situation.
Nothing in my years of captivity prepared me for standing between two alphas who stir such profound responses. Who awaken parts of me I thought long dead under Ravenscroft's endless experiments.
Atlas's thumb traces my cheekbone with impossible gentleness while Vale's presence burns against my awareness like a brand. The former offers security I've never known, while the latter ignites recognition that transcends our years apart.
My heart thunders against my ribs as competing desires wage war in my chest. The urge to lean into Atlas's touch battles with the need to turn toward Vale's suffering.
To accept the protection freely offered or return to the alpha whose blue eyes have haunted my dreams.
The alarms increase in pitch, marking time slipping away like sand through desperate fingers.
"Can you trail behind me in this state?" Atlas asks, palm still cradling my cheek with impossible tenderness.
The question forces reality back into focus, though my throat constricts around rising emotion.
"Is he going to be okay?" The whispered inquiry slips out before wisdom can silence it, aimed at Atlas despite Vale's presence at our feet.
Needing validation from the leader.
Seeking truth from alpha authority.
Craving assurance from the one who first showed me mercy.
"Right here, you know," Vale mutters, strain evident beneath attempted humor.
Atlas's response carries a lethal warning.
"Not another word from you, or I knock you out myself,” he growls menacingly. “Better pray you aren't full of bullets by the time we reach the van."
The threat silences Vale instantly, his head dropping in submission which speaks volumes about pack dynamics I barely understand.
Atlas returns his attention to me, covered gaze somehow conveying intensity despite the silk barrier.
"Vale has a condition that makes his legs stop working," he explains with calculated precision. "We'll discuss details once we're behind safe walls, but right now we have two choices. Leave him or take him with us."
My heart clenches at the first option, shadows stirring with unexpected protest.
"Taking him means I carry him, leaving me exposed," Atlas continues. "I won't risk you leading point in case of crossfire. Can you confidently run behind us, watching for danger?"
"Yes," immediate certainty surprises even me, but anxiety bleeds through as I add quietly, "So he's not dying, right?"
Atlas pauses, perhaps weighing the tremor in my voice or the vulnerability such concern reveals.
"Not on my watch, little Goddess," his assurance wraps around me like armor before he leans closer to whisper, "Vale's too stubborn to fucking die so pitifully, but having your support might help him live longer."
A grunt from Vale suggests burning responses held in check only by fear of Atlas's earlier threat. Relief floods my system, steadying hands that had begun to shake without my notice.
"I can maintain defense," I affirm, drawing on years of training to project confidence I'm no longer certain I possess.
"Only if absolutely necessary," Atlas's tone brooks no argument. "Need you unharmed, understood?"
I nod before catching myself – his blindness requires verbal confirmation.
"Yes."
His smirk suggests he sensed the movement anyway, right before he captures my lips in a kiss so gentle it steals my breath. The unexpected tenderness, witnessed by Vale and pressed against time's deadly march, should feel wrong.
Instead, it anchors me, burning away anxiety with pure sensation.
Need this.
Crave the assurance.
Require this grounding touch.
The response unsettles me. Years of conditioning taught me emotional distance and trained me to focus solely on survival or elimination. These new nerves, this fresh uncertainty – they'd label it weakness at Ravenscroft.
Perhaps that explains their determination to keep us packless. Emotional connections threaten perfect weapons and compromise lethal efficiency. The shadows hum in agreement, recognizing the truth in this revelation.
Atlas releases me with evident reluctance, moving to Vale with fluid grace that defies his supposed limitation. I marvel at his precise movements and the way he navigates space as if darkness holds no power over him.
A deeper realization strikes as I track his motions – I can smell them.
Not all alphas, not the general musk should trigger omega responses, but these two specifically. Their unique scents bypass years of careful programming, awakening instincts I thought were permanently destroyed.
Atlas's pine and leather.
Vale's mountain air and rain.
Both burn through carefully constructed walls.
The shadows whisper possibilities, theories about compatibility and fate I dare not examine too closely. Yet their song carries notes of approval rather than warning – recognition of significance I cannot yet grasp.
Atlas crouches beside Vale, movements economical and precise as he prepares to lift him. The entire situation feels surreal – these alphas who've shattered my worldview in mere moments, this escape that promises freedom rather than deeper chains, these emotions I shouldn't be capable of feeling.
The facility's alarms pierce through my contemplation, reminding us that time races forward despite this bubble of connection.
Atlas rises smoothly, Vale secured across his broad shoulders with dignified efficiency that speaks of practice at managing his pack mate's condition.
"Ready?" Atlas's final query carries weight beyond mere confirmation as if my agreement forges an unbreakable contract.
"Yes, Alpha," the response flows naturally, drawing a barely contained growl rumbling through his chest. The sound ignites fresh awareness, omega instincts preening at such visceral reaction to mere words.
Power lies in that response.
Validation blooms from his restraint.
Truth crystalizes in perfect clarity.
I guess this means I’m not defective after all.
My body was simply waiting for the right pack to awaken dormant instincts.
The revelation settles into my bones as Atlas launches into motion, his initial pace clearly restrained for my benefit.
"Full speed," I urge, conviction ringing through my voice. "I'll keep up."
He responds instantly, doubling his pace without hesitation. My enhanced abilities match his stride for stride, feet barely touching the ground as we race through sterile corridors.
I should be thankful to be able to run this fast, the training through fields, tunnels, and competitive tasks that revolved around life and death serving its purpose now that I can use it for my own benefit rather than those observed for leisure.
The alarms escalate to a piercing crescendo, their warning manifesting in brutal reality as metal barriers crash down behind us. Each thunderous impact seals another section, cutting off all possibility of return.
Atlas spoke the truth – abandoning Vale would have condemned him to a fate worse than death. My stomach roils at images of fresh experiments, new tortures visited upon those useless legs. The thought feeds determination, pushing me faster as I scan our surroundings with a predatory focus.
The cool night air hits my face as we burst through the final doors, freedom tantalizingly close. But survival instincts override the urge to celebrate this first taste of outside in countless years.
Gunfire cracks through darkness, bullets whining past with lethal intent. Recognition floods my system as I analyze our route, memories of countless "training exercises" paint a clear picture of the danger ahead.
"This leads straight to them," I call out in warning.
"What do you mean?" Atlas doesn't break stride despite the question.
"Training grounds. Designed to look like an escape route. Hidden pit beneath leaf cover. They use it repeatedly." Years of observation pour forth in clipped phrases. "Seen too many omegas fall. Those blankets of leaves are a trap. A thirty feet drop."
Which isn’t pretty nor is it recoverable. If you fall into that hole, no one is expected to retrieve your broken-boned body back from its depths.
It was what some of the Alphas called the “Open Grave”.
"Alternative? Need the van." His response carries equal efficiency.
“North East from here,” Vale calls out. “It shouldn’t be far from here.
I direct Atlas right while Vale rasps details of the coordinates from his position across Atlas's shoulders. Recognition clicks instantly – the circular meadow wrapped in ancient trees where I'd hidden during winter trials.
I can recall how painfully annoying those trials were, especially in nothing but a thin medical gown offering no protection from bitter cold.
Those torturous hours of frostbite now guide our escape.
Past suffering transforms into present salvation.
Movement catches my enhanced vision – multiple threats converging on our position. Training takes over as I draw both guns, years of conditioning flowing through muscle memory.
"Down!" The command carries no room for argument as I pivot to face approaching danger.
My body moves with fluid precision, every motion guided by instinct and experience. These aren't simulated threats or training exercises – real bullets fly as guards recognize their chance to eliminate me, Patient 495, permanently.
Each shot finds a lethal mark, bodies dropping in rapid succession as I clear our path. The familiarity of violence should disturb me, but survival permits no space for moral examination.
At some point something skids past me, slicing through my side, but not necessarily puncturing. I ignore the sizzling pain that follows, needing to keep focused on the threat that unfolds all around.
I know Atlas can’t protect himself the way he’d want to, not at the expense of Vale, which leads me to step up in this heated moment of bullets that fly all around, fighting to take me out at every fleeting second.
But I’m faster.
A final person remains when both clips run empty, cosmic irony painting a perfect target on my chest.
Recognition freezes my blood as I meet his gaze – the exquisite suit matched with that prideful grin, the sight reminding me of the man who certainly had involvement with our continued captivity for whatever selfish reason.
"Fuck," the curse escapes as I maintain position between the researcher's aim and the alphas behind me, empty weapons still raised in futile defiance.
No ammunition, options, or choice of surrender.
As if I’ve offered this bastard the option to mock this dead end in sight with the gun in his grip, ready to pull the trigger and end it all.
His cruel smile widens, savoring power over his prized experiment.
"Rather impressive survival rate up to this point, Patient 495." The gun remains perfectly steady in his practiced grip. "But I can't have you making a mockery of my multimillion-dollar establishment."
Atlas curses, muscles bunching as he tries to rise despite Vale's weight. The sharp click of the safety disengaging freezes him mid-motion.
"One move and your precious omega takes a bullet through her heart," the boss who I assume must be the owner of this place carries absolute conviction.
My mind races through possibilities before settling on a desperate gambit.
"Fine. Take me back…but let them go."
He tilts his head, considering the offer with academic interest.
"Why should I care about their fate?"
Knowledge surfaces from countless mandatory study sessions on alpha dynamics – rules and laws governing pack interactions beyond Ravenscroft's walls.
Specifically, regulations surrounding alpha deaths on shared property.
"That wounded guard you're transporting," I inject urgency into my voice. "The one I persuaded to aid my escape. Both innocent of wrongdoing." My eyes lock onto his, driving home the implications. "Kill them, news spreads before dawn. How many eyes turn toward your carefully hidden omega exchanges then?"
Calculation flickers across his features as reality sinks in. His gaze shifts to the alphas, mouth tightening with frustrated acknowledgment.
Got him.
"Leave now.” There’s no room for debate in his voice. “Whatever happens next isn't my concern."
Vale's attempt at defiant response dissolves into an agonized grunt as fresh spasms wrack his legs. Atlas's face contorts with strain – torn between impossible choices.
Save newly discovered omega.
Or protect the pack brother of countless years.
Watching conflict play across his features ignites certainty in my chest. Spinning around, I drop swiftly to my knees, before pressing the truth into the air between us.
"Protect who's been in your life longest. You know exactly who matters more between Vale and me."
"No-" Atlas's protest dies as I press my finger against his lips.
"I never had an alpha see me as worth saving before today," emotion threatens to choke my words. "You're the first…and if you're the last, I'll die content knowing what it means to feel protected. To feel safe."
His jaw clenches beneath my touch, fury, and helplessness warring across usually controlled features. The gun's aim never wavers as the owner watches our exchange with odd fascination.
Time crystallizes around this moment of choice – life balanced on the knife edge of sacrifice and salvation.
Turning from Atlas's anguished expression, I raise my hands in surrender while approaching the facility owner.
Each step ignites a fresh fire in my left side, but I push aside the agony as I make my slowed retreat back to one of the key instigators of this grand fiasco.
All my suffering starts with this man. The owner of this establishment who thinks of us as nothing but property to be sold, collected, and offered to what must be the highest bidder.
The reality of returning to those sterile halls, to endless experiments and clinical torment, settles like lead in my stomach.
After everything I went through…am I not deserving of a happy ending?
Half the distance is covered when a gunshot cracks through the night air – the owner's weapon flying from his grip in an explosion of metal and curses.
I flinch back instinctively as he reaches for a backup weapon, I grab my knife, flicking the blade out into position before darting it right into his arm first. His scream of agony barely registers before another sniper round whistles past, erupting in clouds of dark green and magenta gas.
"NYX!" Atlas's call pierces through chaos, spurring me into motion. Racing back to where he holds position, confusion ripples through me at his choice to maintain ground rather than seek cover.
His hand closes around mine while somehow keeping Vale balanced across his shoulders.
"This way!" The command flows naturally as I take point, veering left as more sniper rounds impact around us. Each hit spawns fresh streams of colored gas, obscuring visibility while raising questions I can't afford to contemplate.
The longer route becomes a necessity rather than a choice – standard paths compromised by whatever counter-assault unfolds. My legs grow increasingly uncooperative, exhaustion warring with determination as I force myself forward.
Releasing Atlas's hand creates a tactical advantage, freeing him to better distribute Vale's weight while navigating treacherous terrain. Every footfall crunches through autumn leaves, creating an audible trail for him to follow despite his blindness and the surrounding bedlam.
Through narrowing vision, I spot a cluster of vehicles – two standard vans flanking one in matte black.
"There! The vans!"
Slowing pace, I direct Atlas to prioritize Vale's evacuation. His hesitation bleeds through tense muscles, but I cut off the potential protest.
"Making sure we're clear of pursuit."
A curse slips through his clenched jaw.
"Fine, but keep up!"
Agreement barely leaves my lips before another round makes an impact between us, gas blooming to obscure already limited sight lines.
Ten long strides separate us from potential safety, but the world tilts dangerously as I process the soaked fabric clinging to my side.
Atlas's shirt is drenched crimson.
Pressing trembling fingers against torn flesh draws involuntary hiss as blood paints my palm. Double vision transforms my surroundings into a kaleidoscope of confusion while a new scent cuts through gas-tainted air – a blend of sandalwood and musk layered with berries and cinnamon that sparks a craving for fresh-baked comfort.
Through the swirling mist, blonde hair catches dim light as a figure races toward my position. Instinct pulls me in the opposite direction, primal awareness of unseen observation prickling across my skin.
Reality fractures further with each labored heartbeat; a world spinning beyond the ability to track or navigate. The strength that carried me this far ebbs like a tide pulling away from shore, leaving only uncertainty in its wake.
Through swirling clouds of emerald and magenta gas, a pair of eyes captures my fading attention. The gaze locks onto mine from perfect concealment among dense trees, a sniper rifle slung with casual grace across black-clad shoulders.
Rather than taking aim to end my escape, those eyes hold me transfixed with haunting familiarity. They mirror my own with uncanny precision – ivory green with hints of teal that I've only ever seen in reflections and fever dreams.
The shadows stir in the depths of my consciousness, their usual silence transforming into harmonic whispers. The melody rises, matching note for note the lullaby that's haunted my fractured memories.
Their song grows stronger as reality begins to blur, numbness creeping through my limbs while black spots dance across my deteriorating vision.
Yet I cannot look away from those eyes – my eyes – staring back from a face that could be my own reflection in some alternate reality where fate chose a different path.
The figure rises from their concealed position with fluid grace, weapon shifting across their back with practiced ease as if carrying such a weapon is second nature.
A tactical mask conceals the lower half of their face, but those eyes betray what fabric attempts to hide. Tears gather in identical irises, emotion bleeding through carefully maintained control. The sight creates a surreal disconnect – watching myself cry through eyes that grow increasingly unfocused.
Why does my reflection weep? What sorrow reaches through the perfect mirror to shed tears for my fall? Does she mourn how close freedom came before slipping away?
Thoughts grow sluggish as blood loss takes a greater toll, yet I notice the subtle difference between us – her hair reversed from mine, magenta roots bleeding into forest green where mine does
The opposite.
Everything else matches with eerie precision – same scattered freckles across identical nose bridges, same lean build carried with similar grace.
Understanding pierces through creeping darkness – not reflection but connection. The twin from my dreams made manifest in this moment between life and death.
Here to ensure I don't face the end alone.
Gratitude surfaces through growing numbness, pulling my lips into an attempted smile. The motion remains incomplete as equilibrium finally fails, sending me drifting backward in a graceful arc that feels suspended in time.
Reality fragments into a slow-motion tableau – a body floating through space as if gravity holds no power. Imagined feathers drift past my vision, black and purple plumes dancing in nonexistent wind while the shadows raise their song to a crescendo. Their harmony carries notes of profound mourning as if nature itself joins their funeral dirge.
The impact of being caught never registers through spreading numbness. My gaze fixes upward, frozen in place as my lungs forget how to draw breath. Muscles lock into perfect stillness, leaving me posed like a discarded doll – lips parted in eternal silence, eyes unable to close against the encroaching dark.
Such bitter irony.
No chance to bid farewell to my newly discovered twin. No opportunity to ensure she claims a better fate than years of torture. No moment to verify Atlas and Vale's safety, to learn if a cure exists for Vale’s affliction, or to discover what role I might have played in their pack's future.
A man's face enters my unblinking vision, features twisted with raw panic that seems excessive for a stranger's death.
But those eyes – those incredible blue eyes that should be familiar though I cannot recall why – they hold me transfixed even as consciousness begins to fade.
Tears track down his cheeks as he cradles my rigid form, grief-etching lines I wish I could smooth away. Such pain seems unwarranted for one he cannot truly know, yet the intensity of his anguish offers strange comfort – at least my passing will be mourned by someone who seems to care deeply, even if I cannot understand why.
I wish I could have learned about them. Even if it was little tidbits of their story. Atlas…Vale…Kieran…and whoever the last one was.
How it seemed like I’d get to be considered as a potential Omega for their unit, the thought making me wonder what unique personality each of them had.
Would I have connected so swiftly to them as I did Atlas? Get to enjoy a day of just normalcy. Waking up in a bed with my pack. Having a plate of warm breakfast at the kitchen table. Watching television, reading newspapers, laughing, and joking while the morning passes by.
To do activities I’ve never experienced, or to simply work out for pleasure and not exhaustion. Lounge around in pajamas, matching ones, like those cheesy holiday movies, and eat buckets of ice cream while watching silly movies.
It would have been nice to experience sex. To understand the pleasure surrounding it, especially as an Omega. I doubt I would have experienced a Heat, at least not until all the daily drugs and suppressants were out of my system, but what would it be like to be worshipped by a group of men who actually adored you?
Loved you.
Could see a future with you and the rest of the pack. I’m not sure if I’d have kids, or if my body would be capable of it due to all the experimentation, but then again, I was still young.
It makes me wonder how old each of them is, knowing the age gap is probably drastic to society, but the blanket of maturity I got a glimpse of with Atlas makes me wish for more.
In the end, I didn’t have a choice to choose.
Between life and death.
Since it seemed to be already written in stone at the peak of freedom.
Oddly enough, I’m not angry.
I’m at peace with the taste I was privileged to experience.
That’s enough for me…I’m thankful.
Awareness slips further as those beautiful eyes begin to blur, reality dissolving into darkness pierced only by the shadows' song.
Their final note reaches impossible heights, transformed into a celestial chorus that guides my fading spirit toward whatever lies beyond.
If I could thank them for their companionship through years of torment, for their guidance in moments of despair, for their presence even in this final passage – I would.
That could have been their purpose all along. To be there for me in this transition between the living and the forgotten. It’s a shame I’ll have no one to remember me, but then again, maybe the little impact I made upon this cruel world will live on.
It would surpass Patient 495, that label bestowed upon me would shed away with my death.
But I’d be remembered as Nyx.
By Azurite and Luna…if they didn’t meet their ends, and Atlas and his pack, who may think of me, or even light a candle in my name.
In the end, the shadows sing the last hymns I get to listen to, and it’s satisfying that they get the final chance to serenade me farewell.
All that remains is gratitude carried on the last wisps of thought as consciousness surrenders to the void.
Into the shadows that birthed my strength.
Into the darkness that sheltered my soul.
Into the eternal night that claims me at last.
Where I began…
Where I end…
Where I finally find peace.