Chapter GABRIEL #4
But the guard leans slightly, trying to get a better look at Blue. Recognition flashes across his face.
"Oh. Mr. Lowen," he says, straightening a little. "We’ve been informed."
Blue flashes his ID to the second guard, who stands next to the entrance without a word. That is all they ask of him, and no one reaches for him or even tries to step into his space. The guard gestures for us to move forward with a level of care that borders on deference.
But I don’t get the same treatment.
"Arms out," another officer says once we enter the intake area, his tone firm.
I sigh. Not again, for fuck’s sake.
But sure, I comply, keeping my attention angled toward Blue as I raise my arms. The officer pats down my sides, my back, then moves lower, his hands sliding over my hips and down along my thighs.
When he presses up under my waistband and is about to check my groin, I feel Blue’s gaze fixing on us.
I glance at him briefly and catch a deep frown pulling at his expression.
It’s much stronger than before, back at the military base.
"That’s enough," Blue says, his voice firm, and it makes the officer hesitate.
"I have to complete the search, sir."
"You’ve completed enough."
The officer finishes, never reaches for my crotch, and steps back sooner than procedure would usually require.
"You’re clear," he mutters, looking slightly embarrassed. Blue, despite his small stature, carries such a strong presence that it’s hard to disregard. He knows his value, and people pick up on it instantly. I’m the opposite.
I lower my arms and move straight back into position beside him, placing myself between him and the nearest guard in a way that is just a bit ostentatious.
Every time someone shifts too close, I adjust, subtly but constantly maintaining a clean perimeter around him.
It seems to please him, and I sense it almost as clearly as if it were my own emotion, which keeps puzzling me.
Unexpectedly, we’re stopped by another guard holding a plastic tray. On it lie two objects that look like clips, or maybe those breathing aids athletes use, but I have no idea what they are.
The guard pushes the tray toward us. "Put these on your noses. This inmate’s pheromones are extremely strong. They have a powerful effect on alphas and omegas." His tone carries a strange undertone, suggestive in a way that makes the implication clear even before he explains.
"I don’t—" I start, but Blue cuts in.
"Gabriel, put it on. I’m not wearing it."
The guard raises an eyebrow. "I recommend that you do. I’ve seen what it does, and I wouldn’t advise going without it. We’ve already had several… incidents across the facility because of Fenn Drax’s pheromones."
Blue lifts his chin slightly. "A little self-control is enough."
The guard bares his upper teeth in a predatory half-smile. "Suit yourselves. But I strongly recommend it for the alpha. He’s young. It will be way more difficult for him to resist."
"Yeah, Gabriel, put it on," Blue says. "You’ll have to breathe through your mouth."
I just need to ask, even if I kinda already know.
"What exactly do his pheromones do?"
The guard sighs and spells it out.
"Basically, you’ll feel like you’re going into rut. The urge to fuck will be so strong that holding yourself back will actually hurt."
I grimace. "I don’t get why you didn’t just give him pheromone blockers, or at least deodorant."
The guard shakes his head. "We can’t. He’d go into anaphylactic shock. Deodorants also trigger severe hives and allergic dermatitis."
I sigh. "Fine." Then I grab the plastic clip and put it on my nose. Breathing through my mouth isn’t exactly pleasant, but I don’t really have a choice. Only then do we move forward.
We are waved through the next set of doors, which open with a heavy buzz before locking behind us with a solid sound that echoes down the corridor.
Inside, the atmosphere feels different, denser.
Two correctional officers take over as our escort, one ahead and one behind, and I keep track of both while staying close enough to Blue that our shoulders almost brush when the hallway narrows.
We pass through a sequence of secured sections, each door opening only after the previous one seals shut behind us, the rhythm repetitive. Cameras are mounted high in the corners, angled downward, and the walls show heavy wear that comes from years of use.
"Interview room," the officer in front says as we turn into another corridor, his tone matter-of-fact. "Non-contact is also available if needed."
"It won’t be," Blue replies, calmly.
The officer pauses to acknowledge that before continuing.
"He’s restrained. High-risk classification. But keep your distance and follow instructions, and there won’t be a problem."
Blue doesn’t respond.
We stop at a reinforced door. The officer unlocks it and pushes it open, stepping aside to let us enter first. I go in ahead of Blue, scanning the room in a single sweep before he crosses the threshold, then shift back to his side as he steps in.
The space is small, with a metal table bolted to the floor and chairs arranged on either side. A camera watches us from the upper corner. There are no windows, nothing to improve the atmosphere.
Blue takes his seat, resting his hands on the table as if this were just another meeting in his office. I sit beside him, closer than necessary, tilting my body so that my shoulder and thigh nearly touch his. The proximity is deliberate. Whoever shows up needs to understand my role here.
The officers remain outside for now, the door still open, and faint hallway noise carries into the room.
Footsteps approach. Four guards enter, all wearing the same plastic nose clips that I have.
They are escorting a figure restrained in chains so massive that he has to lower his head just to get through the doorway.
Even before he fully steps into the light, his size dominates the space, his movements barely contained by the cuffs on his wrists, the chain at his waist, and the shackles at his ankles.
They guide him to the chair across from us. One officer motions him down into the seat while another secures the chain to a fixed point on the floor, tightening it until there’s no room for sudden movement.
"Stay seated," one of them says flatly.
Theoretically, the restraints hold him in place, but they don’t make him any less dangerous.
The guards step back once they’re satisfied, exchange a brief glance, and file out of the room. The door closes behind them.
Well. It’s not his size that draws the most attention.
The mutant’s lower face is stained a deep purplish red, like flames crawling up his skin, or like blood flowing upward against gravity.
Some of those red streaks disappear beneath his hairline.
His eyes burn with a deep purple intensity.
He’s dressed in a standard prison jumpsuit, but a strip of his neck is visible, and instead of the thin purple line typical of purple alphas, there are red, fang-like markings there, adding to his monstrous presence.
I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, as his gaze sweeps over us. Blue shows nothing, but my expression pulls a sour grimace from the mutant, like he’s thinking: what, got your fill of staring at a freak?
Blue remains still. I wonder if that freak’s pheromones affect him at all, but for now, there’s no visible sign.
I shift even closer to his side, actually pressing my chest against him now, my hand resting along the back of the chair.
All of my attention stays locked on the man across the table, forcing a series of five-second scenarios through my head.
I don’t see any immediate danger, but I make sure there’s no doubt where I stand.
For a moment, no one speaks, and the distance between us feels uncomfortably small.
Then Blue leans forward slightly, as if to open the conversation, but Drax beats him to it, his voice low and raspy.
"I can’t believe my eyes. Blue Lowen himself, the father of this damn program, came to honor humble little me with his presence…"
He tilts his weird, half-purple head, as if trying to seize control of the tone, but I’m not about to let him, no matter how big he is.
"Show a little respect. Maybe start with good morning and thank you, Mr. Lowen, for visiting, for your precious time?" I growl.
Fenn Drax snorts and curls his upper lip, and I notice then that unlike normal people, he has double fangs. Besides the usual canines, he has another pair where his incisors should be. It looks even more mutant-like than his face’s coloring.
Slowly, dragging it out, he says, "Sure, sure… good morning, Mr. Lowen. What could God himself possibly want from a miserable bastard like me, used by your people and then thrown to the wolves?"
Blue doesn’t seem fazed by the hostile tone.
"Don’t be a smartass, Drax. I’ve looked closely into your case. If not for that stupid revenge mission you went on, you would be a perfectly free man right now, and I could have offered you a much better deal."
The mutant grimaces again, baring his weird teeth like a wild animal. "Offer me a deal… What’s that supposed to mean, Mr. Lowen? I’m in prison. And my revenge, as you call it, was completely justified. If you knew what they did to me…"
"I know quite a bit about your circumstances."
"Do you?" The man twists his face in a mocking expression and leans forward slightly, which makes me go rigid instantly, ready to defend Blue with all I have.
"Do you know they beat me with a metal table leg until I had intracranial bleeding? And then, in a room full of forty people, they tried to impale me with it? If the guards hadn’t shown up, that’s exactly what would have happened!"
Silence falls. Blue tilts his head slightly, then speaks.
"And yet, under the law, what you did afterward was attempted murder. So even if you felt justified, the law does not see it that way, and that is why… you are here."