The mutation of the gene had occurred sometime many, many centuries ago. No one was quite sure when, or why, but the human race had all but been transformed into something mutated. It was a form of transformation, something triggered by rapidly influenced emotional turmoil, sometimes triggered by fear, or even occurring by choice to those who were strong enough in rank and personality to handle such a power. Society had been split into a form of a hierarchy to match the species base of the mutagen: the wolf. The Alphas ran things, females and males alike. They were the powerful people in society: the lawyers, business men, bankers, any person who was to be in control was an Alpha by birth or after fighting tooth-and-nail their entire life to get to where they need to be. Alphas mate with Alphas, have little Alpha babies, and the cycle continued on.
Betas were the second ranking, white-collared workers who worked just beneath Alphas, and tended to be the ones most trusted by the powerful ones of society. They sometimes lacked the brains of the Alphas, meant more for brute strength and being powerhouses and protectors. Anyone in the middle ranks of society worked as lower white-collar and blue-collar workers. They were well enough off, and many of them lived very happy, content lives. They reproduced (that trait of the wolf instinct didn’t seem to transfer over, the mating of Alphas being the only pair to result in pups) and raised their children, living in suburbs or rural areas, spending their life happy where they are and enjoying it as much as they can. Then… unfortunately, there were always the bottom rungs of society.
Omegas. Omegas had ‘rights’, but it was such that those ‘rights’ weren’t often enforced. Actually, they were often blatantly looked over, especially if in the right situation. Omegas were the ones working the scum jobs, the jobs people didn’t wish to do. They sold their bodies, sometimes lived on the streets, they occupied the gutters. A lot of the female Omegas worked in strip clubs, as escorts, and thrived through the sex-trade. The lucky members of society that fell into the lower rankings in life, well, they tended to become maids, butlers, nannies. Those born into families of higher ranks could often get nurturing jobs as nurses, teachers. The ones truly unlucky were male Omegas. Rare indeed, the male Omega who was born an Omega and not thrust into the rank via society’s harsh nature, was often seen as a being who held no rights whatsoever.
In certain cities, they had nothing. They were objects, often wards of the state, and could be used as vessels for those who bought, sold, or owned them. In newer cities, in cities that were on the right path to equal rights, Omegas were on the better side of things. They were getting jobs, having opportunities and chances. But, no matter where you go, there are always people stuck in the old thoughts and ways of their grandparents and parents. The apple doesn’t often fall far from the tree, or so they tend to say.
In one of these thriving cities, Omegas were moving up in the world. They were getting rights every day, making headlines, applying and getting into colleges to work to become something better than the low-life their parents wanted them to become. Omegas who felt threatened by society, or who had grown up in another town, had the opportunity to get themselves put onto suppressants. These pills, or shots, would allow their real scent to be muddled down into something it wasn’t. They would suppress heats for Omegas of either gender, and tended to sometimes had negative effects for child-bearing for males and females alike. But, for some Omegas, it was worth it.
Particularly for a mid-twenties ‘Omega’ named River Tesson. He’d grown up in a society, a rare male Omega born as the result of an unfaithful Alpha male and an Omega slut. He’d been taken in as the bastard child of the male Alpha until he’d presented as an Omega. Then, he was prettied up, trained, and then sold off to be the bitch of some harsh Beta male lawyer. He’d been subjected to his ‘kinks’, large and small, and mated against his will. He’d not had any say in the matter, bearing the small, silvery scars along the flesh on the back of his right shoulder as a mating mark that claimed him even after he’d run for his life. He’d run to the city, run to become something better. He’d been picked up by an agency, and then he’d been hired by the current Alpha of the estate. His Alpha had no idea that he was an Omega – he had been on suppressants for a few years, masking his true smell, his true ranking, to appear something of a middle-class wolf. In fact, his Alpha wasn’t even aware that he was a ‘he’ truly. Ever since he’d been hired, River had been known as the female he posed as. He wore simple, maid clothing with his hair kept brushed, cleaned, and long. He made sure that he always looked presentable for his Alpha and did whatever he asked of him.
Like, right now – it was laundry day. The pencil skirt was dark, charcoal grey and classy. He wore a blush colored blouse that looked good against the smooth paleness of his skin. Hair pulled back into a braid, his sharp blue eyes were relaxed and gentle as he walked in his sensible, flat shoes. His legs were smooth, hairless, pale and soft as they stretched leanly from beneath the skirt as he bent, grabbing up the sheets wadded at the base of his Alpha’s bed. They smelled heady – he wondered which one it had been, this time, before shaking his head and putting them into the basket on his hip. His Alpha was working right now, so this was his time to get things cleaned and tidied for when he came home.
The sense of smell in his nose had been a little off, lately, so he’d long since avoided trying to sift through the scents of who often came in and out of his Alpha’s bedroom. He’d never bedded the Alpha – they had a business relationship, and honestly, the idea seemed to put River off. Relationships, after his last one (if you could call it that), made him rather nervous to even contemplate. Humming quietly, the feminine man took the laundry to the small room off of the kitchen, preparing to wash all that needed to be washed, as he did every Tuesday of the week. Routine was safe, and since he’d been here almost a year… it was familiar, something he’d grown to enjoy.