Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock on the wall is the only thing brave enough to break the silence.
Each tick cuts through the thick, molasses-like air of the room, a slow, patient metronome counting down to some invisible end.
The walls are made of smooth, gray cement, stained with old water marks and time. There are no windows.
Just one fluorescent bulb above the metal table, its cold light casting shadows like ghosts dancing across the walls.
A single chair sits beneath that light, metallic and unforgiving. In it, a woman shifts uncomfortably.
Her name is Regina Lowell, but everyone who knows her calls her Gina, though even that sounds too familiar for the likes of this place.
She is small, too small for an adult woman, light-skinned with a face half swallowed by freckles that dust her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
Her dark curly hair is bunched into a haphazard bun, strands escaping like they're trying to flee.
Her eyes, green like the memory of spring grass, flick nervously from the table to the two figures seated across from her.
They are statues carved from ice, both wearing identical expressions of controlled disdain.
The woman is tall, sharp-jawed, with black hair pulled into a tight braid that looks as though it could cut skin.
The man beside her mirrors her severity, his square face blank except for the narrowing of his eyes every time Gina moves or breathes or exists.
The woman opens the file in front of her. The sound of paper sliding against paper seems to echo in the room.
"Regina Lowell," she begins, her voice clipped and emotionless. She doesn't look up. "Age twenty-three. Height, five feet, two inches. Weight, ninety-two pounds. Born in Redridge, East Sector. No criminal record. Medical history: adequate health, though childhood malnutrition noted; significant vitamin D deficiency until age 5. Prone to respiratory infections. Psychological evaluations show high anxiety levels and a difficulty with authority figures. Is that correct, Ms. Lowell?"
Gina shoulders hitch a little. Her mouth moves before any sound comes out.
Finally, she stammers, "Y-Yes, ma'am."
Her voice is small, coated in hoarseness like it hasn't been used properly in years. It cracks around the syllables as it escapes her pink lips, the poor flesh dry and cracked from her teeth repeatedly sinking into it.
She brings her fingers to her lap, white-knuckling the thin fabric of her pant trousers.
The man sighs, slow and long, as if her response has personally offended him.
He flips through the folder.
As his eyes trace the contents, his features tighten like a noose.
He pauses, holds up a page, then turns it to the woman beside him.
They share a look, angry, cold.
The air drops another five degrees.
"Omega," the man says, not even trying to hide the disgust curling on his lips.
He lays the page on the table, face up, though Gina doesn't dare look at it. "And not just any omega. Bottom caste, potenc level six."
The woman snorts, lips curling. "You should've been sterilized."
Gina shrinks. Her shoulders hunch in, and her spine curves like she could fold herself out of existence.
Gina's head bows further.
Tick.
The silence stretches again. Heavy. Unforgiving.
"Why did you apply?" the woman asks, flipping the page with unnecessary aggression.
"You knew you weren't qualified. This position is not just any posting. This is elite level clearance. Privately detailed for either a mid level omega or high level Beta. And you- " She gestures at Gina's entire person with a sneer. "- are a glorified house pet."
"I... I thought maybe... I could be of use," Gina says. "I'm... I'm good at following orders. I don't make trouble. I- I can do whatever you want. Whatever's needed."
Her words fall like broken glass between the table. No one picks them up.
The man waves a hand. "This is pointless. Dismiss her." He sighs, bringing a hand up to his nose in annoyance.
They both stand, and their chairs scrape against the floor like a scream.
"You're not qualified, Ms. Lowell. You may leave." The woman says stiffly, about to show her the way out.
"No!" Gina's voice bursts out before she can stop it. She stumbles to her feet, eyes wide, hands clenched so hard her nails dig into her skin. "Please! I'll do anything! I swear, I won't mess up. I won't even speak unless spoken to. Please, just let me in. Just give me one chance."