The woman's eyes flash, and Gina's heart beats faster, her stomach tightening but she stands her ground.
She can't leave. She can't. This is the only way.
"Tell me, Omega, do you even understand what you're asking for? What it means to be part of this? Do you understand the expectations?" she hisses through clenched teeth.
Gina nods quickly, "I do! please don't send me away. I can do it. I won't mess up, I swear. I'll try harder than anyone. Just give me one chance!"
The woman sneers at her. "You don't get to beg here. This isn't a marketplace."
"Get out," the man barks.
But gina doesn't move. Her voice cracks.
"Just-"
He slams his fist on the table. Gina flinches falling silent.
Behind the observation glass, another room sits in contrast.
Larger, more ornately decorated.
The air is cleaner but no less sharp. Guards line the walls like statues, unmoving, dark suits pressed and guns polished.
In the center, a single figure sits like a monarch on a throne.
Maxwell Warren. Prime Alpha and head Alpha of the Westros Wolf Territory.
Largest were territory in the world
His posture is relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, arms resting over the high winged back chair like it was built to his specification.
He is a man carved from elegance and shadow.
Flawless pale skin with black hair as dark as a raven's wing, the sleek locks parted neatly, not a strand out of place.
His eyes, however, are his most arresting feature. Dark, void-like, as though there is nothing but a deep, bottomless abyss in them. They are cold, unfeeling, much like the man himself.
There is a certain stillness to his presence, a detached, bored quality that suggests he finds the events unfolding before him beneath his notice.
He watches the screen in front of him with detached boredom.
The woman's frantic begging makes his lips twist, her voice grating, like an itch beneath the skin.
This has gone on for far too long.
He brings the comm device to his lips.
"Accept her," he says flatly. "Her yapping is making my ears bleed."
There's a moment of stunned silence in the room as both agents try to process the command.
Then the woman interviewer puts her finger to her earpiece. "Yes, sir."
Eyes focusing on Gina once more, the woman purses her lips and straightens, all traces of her earlier anger melting off like paint stains.
"Ms. Lowell, congratulations," she says. "You have been accepted. Report to the assigned location on the email you will receive at dawn. Do not be late."
Gina's breath catches. Her knees almost buckle.
"Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you, thank you- "
"Go," the man cuts in, much more mutinous than his partner. "Now."
Gina doesn't need to be told twice. She nearly trips on her way to the door.
Her hand fumbles for the knob as though her fingers have forgotten how to grip.
She slips out, silent as a thought, leaving behind the dim room with its buzzing light and colder glares.
Maxwell lowers the comm.
"Pathetic," he mutters, closing his eyes and sinking back into his chair with a sigh
He can't wait for this to be over.
***
The sky is still dark, unbroken by the faintest kiss of sunlight, when Gina Lowell stands before the gates of the Westeros Genetics and Surrogacy Facility.
A biting wind snakes through the trees behind her, brushing over her face like cold fingers.
Her cracked lips sting.
Her bruises still ache from the beating she managed to escape from the loan sharks.
But she remains still, a trembling silhouette beneath the towering steel archway crowned with a glowing insignia: a silver wolf circling the moon.
This is where lives are made.
This is where hers may very well end.
She stares at the matte-black keypad, its surface blinking red, then green as if it too is judging her.
You're lucky to be here, she reminds herself. Act like it.
Her fingers tremble as she types in the access code sent to her email last night along with location, the numbers cold beneath her skin.
A low hiss answers her, mechanical and impersonal, as the reinforced door slides open.
Inside, the light is surgical. Clean. Pale. She steps into the entrance corridor and instantly feels the weight of eyes. Armed guards flank the walls, faceless behind mirrored visors.
Their stances are precise, alert, inhuman in their stillness.
Their scents are hidden beneath suppression blockers, so she can't tell what caste they belong to.
"Name," one says. Male, rough voice and tone bored. His fingers flick over a sleek black tablet.
"G-Gina. Regina Lowell," she manages.
The guard doesn't look at her. "Omega. Low-rank. Adequate level of fertility. Clean health record. Passed first round of screening."
The other guard snorts softly, as if that last part is the most surprising.
The man ignores his colleague and continues in the same bored detached tone, "No inherited bloodline traits and was admitted on special override"
The words special override scrape at her spine.
Just then, a woman in a white lab coat steps forward.
She wears her hair in a severe twist, lips painted the same color as dried blood.
A lab assistant.
"Follow me." The assistant orders briskly.
Gina nods quickly and falls into step, her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. She can feel the cold of it through the thin soles. She imagines this place was designed with that in mind; to make you aware of every step. Every weakness.
They pass through two security checkpoints before arriving at a fork. The woman doesn't look at her when she speaks. "You'll be staying in the Dormitory Wing for the next fourteen days. You are not permitted to leave the building without escort. You will eat when scheduled, sleep when scheduled, and follow all hygiene and reproductive preparation protocols outlined in your manual. Do you understand?"
Gina nods shakily. "Yes, ma'am." she whispers.
The assistant doesn't sound like she particularly cares for Gina's response. "You were lucky to pass. Very lucky." She stresses to Gina.
"Our…..sponsor doesn't tolerate mediocrity of any kind. He'll be arriving mid-week to begin candidate evaluations. You'll be expected to attend social interactions, interviews, and fertility readiness screenings. Refrain from emotional outbursts. Do not challenge the hierarchy. And if you are chosen-"
Her voice pauses, then turns sharp. "-you'll be bound by law to carry the child. And compensated accordingly. Do you have any questions?"
Gina's mouth is dry. "No."
"Good. Then behave as if your life depends on it."
They reach a steel door with a bio-lock panel. The woman scans her hand across the metal pad and it hisses open with a whisper of displaced air.
The corridor inside smells faintly of bleach and plastic.
"You were informed of the program's purpose Ms Lowell," she continues finally. "Do not disappoint." She intones as they walk further into the maze of halls.