GABRIEL #4
"What the fuck changed? That’s not how our group started! We fought for compensation for people suffering from serious drug side effects! We handed out fucking leaflets, organized protests! But this? This is a crime, murder, Marcel! What happened to you?"
Marcel stubs out his cigarette on the windowsill and turns. His eyes are cold and almost empty.
"You’re such a boy scout at heart, Gabriel. Your sense of justice bent only because you thought you’d gain something from me. Joining this group, you had a personal goal. Am I wrong? Do you really believe this corporation’s work is harmful to people… that Blue Lowen must be stopped at any cost?"
I stay silent.
My eyes flick to the side, where, on the wall hangs a bullseye with Blue Lowen’s face overlaid on this. Some darts stick out from his forehead.
His eyes seem to be watching us.
"Hm, Gabe? Do you believe in the cause?"
I don’t really have a fully formed opinion on this.
Sure, I know all about Malden Pharmaceuticals and the pharmaceutical industry in general.
I know they don’t work purely for humanity’s sake.
Everything is about money. They sell products, not only medicine.
And every product relies on marketing, and side effects are buried in fine print.
Marcel watches me and slowly nods as my silence drags on.
"I thought so. I’m not an idiot. I saw from the start what you were trying to do here, Gabriel.
Unfortunately, you and I would not work.
You don’t have what it takes to push our organization toward more radical paths, and that’s exactly what I want. To find new, powerful allies—"
"And who does? Him? Edgar? Or David? Or Tom? Or whoever you fucked during this last year. They are your chosen… champions?"
Marcel narrows his eyes. "You think listing people I sleep with somehow makes this a gotcha moment?"
Suddenly it bursts out of me, a wave of anger that just has to explode. "You fooled me and used me all this time… I knew you slept with them, but I pretended I didn’t see it, still hoping you’d give me a chance… and now you’re going for yet another dick like a fucking slut!"
"Don’t slut-shame me, Gabriel. No one has the right to judge me."
I’ve had enough. I have nothing left to say to him, so I turn.
"If you leave now, you will no longer have the right to return to our group!"
"I don’t want to be part of it anyway! You’ve lost it completely!" I shout over my shoulder.
And I leave… slamming the door to prove my point, though something inside me aches like a torn wound.
Step by step, I make my way home, as if in a dream, passing houses, dark streets, campus paths.
All lost. Ruined.
Misery, misery awaits me.
I enter the dorm. Our room is dark. Marlow is already lying in bed, probably napping, but he sits up when he hears me. He stares for a moment; my gloomy energy has to hang in the air around me. It’s almost strange he can still see me in the dark when all I want is to disappear, to vanish.
"Gabriel, listen…"
"I don’t want to hear anything, I just want to sleep," I mutter, shaking all over, curling up on the bed fully clothed.
Tears roll down my cheeks silently. I feel like I’ve lost everything and landed at a crossroads in my life. The ground has been ripped from under me.
What happens now? I have no hope, I can feel it will be like an avalanche…
I don’t know when I fall asleep, but the dream is awful.
I’m standing in flames consuming Malden Pharmaceuticals, trying to save someone, one specific person. I’m choking, screaming, reaching for him, and then I finally see him. It has to be Marcel. I push through fire and smoke.
The small, solitary figure is much closer now.
I reach out, he turns, and I realize it’s not Marcel. It’s another omega, the one Marcel hates most in the world: Blue Lowen, CEO of Malden Pharmaceuticals…
Funny, only now, in the dream, do I notice how physically similar they are, both short, even for omegas, with that same cold, slightly arrogant edge to them.
Their faces and the way they carry themselves show identical, relentless determination to reach their goals.
In the dream, Blue looks at me, but I can’t read his expression. It’s completely calm, like he’s just observing me.
For some reason, I feel stupid. Marcel made me hate Blue, convinced me that Blue was a crazy, amoral scientist, but now, under that steady gaze, something inside me cracks.
Should I say, "Sorry I spilled gasoline in your building and endangered those people"? I’m so ashamed.
I open my mouth to say it, but instead my eyes snap open as my phone starts ringing somewhere in the room. Someone’s calling.
I lift my head and grab it.
It’s already 9 am.
Oh shit, I overslept… I’m going to be late for our morning training session. My sparring partner, Archer, is going to kill me.
The incoming call shows an unknown number, and a sharp spike of stress hits me as I answer. Could it be the police? But they wouldn't call, right? They'd just arrest me.
"Hello?"
"Gabriel Nolan?"
An unfamiliar voice comes through the line.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Rocco Ferro. I’m the brother of the fighter you’re scheduled to face tonight."
Ah, yes. Right. I remember him. The Ferro clan. They own a network of underground clubs and, supposedly, they’re mafia. Some of them fight too.
In my weight class there’s one of them, Eliano Ferro. A pretty inconsistent fighter, he’s been bouncing around the rankings for years.
With my ability, beating him wouldn’t be a problem, which just makes this call even more suspicious.
"As for the fight, I don’t even know if it’s happening," I say lightly, like I don’t really care. "The police might arrest me today."
"Oh, you’re in trouble, kid? Maybe what I’m offering could help with that little problem of yours."
"And how exactly would you help? You don’t even know what the problem is."
"Any trouble can be handled if you’ve got enough… convincing arguments. So here’s the deal. You lose tonight, let Eliano win. In return, you get half a mil wired straight to your account."
I go still when I hear the number. Underground fights usually don’t pay that well, not unless you’re the top dog. Over the past year and a half, I’ve been making maybe twenty, thirty thousand per fight, and most of it ended up in Marcel’s pockets anyway. I was left with scraps.
"Seriously, Gabriel… think about it. Whatever trouble you’re in, gold always helps."
He’s not wrong.
If the police come for me, at least I could afford top-tier lawyers instead of relying on a public defender. Maybe they could even get me out of it?
"So?"
It’s worth a shot. I’ve got nothing to lose anyway. I don’t even want to keep fighting. Might as well squeeze the last bit out of it.
When I don’t answer right away, Rocco adds, "I can even pay upfront. I know you’ll keep your word. I’ve heard you’re… a good guy." His voice drags slightly, a noticeable Italian accent.
I can’t believe this is real. Feeling a shiver of hope rushing through me, I answer,
"I’m in."
I’ll end my fighting career by taking a dive.