Unknown Omega

Chapter 3 - Seeck

I'm smirking. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. This is the first fun I've had in three weeks, even if it is just knocking around a few soldiers. These Alphas are grunt soldiers, trained for filling in the ranks and overpowering with the sheer number of them. Don't get me wrong, they aren't anything to be sneezed at... unless you're me. Then you sneeze as obnoxiously as possible into their fresh glass of beer.

I don't do well sitting and waiting. Not if I'm off mission. None of my team does.

Command knows this. They know that only once a year is it ok to keep us out of the field for longer than a week. And that's for everyone else's sake. When we Rut, no one wants us loose in society.

During that week long process, it's a great idea to keep us grounded. Over the years, we've all synced up and have ours around the same time. Within 3 weeks of the first Rut beginning, we've all finished.

And then we need a day two to replenish our bodies. But four weeks, from start to finish, is still almost too long to keep us mission-less.

And this hiatus hasn't had the fun of the Rut to break up the monotony.

I need this outlet.

Command knows better than this. This is the longest our unit has been without a mission in two years, besides our Ruts. Any negative outcome from my actions are their fault.

My teammate Jumoke sits at the far end of the room, slouching in a booth and looking like he belongs. I swear, if he comes over and ruins my fun, I'll beat the shit out of him. Well, we'll have a good brawl anyway.

These idiots think that because of their higher number they'll be the winner.

Wrong.

Four burly Alpha males surround me, taking offense to my drunken act, even though ninety percent of the patronage here is drunk.

The first guy swings, but I easily dodge his meaty fist. It isn't that he's slow. Or untrained. Or weak. It's just that I'm faster. Lethally trained. Stronger than all except for my teammates.

I drop low into my stance and strike upward with my right hand. The flat of my fingers slash his tri-cep before he can reset from his attempt to punch me. He bellows in a mixture of anger and humiliation. He's more embarrassed than hurt, and it shows in his deep red cheeks and wild eyes.

He tries to backhand me, the fool! I grab his pinky as it travels two full inches away from my face, and his own momentum snaps it.

True pain fills his eyes and an enraged howl emerges from his throat.

Two more converge on me and a delighted grin stretches my lips. I kick my leg backward, sending another to the ground, his knee inverted. Flinging the broken pinky over my shoulder, I duck and flip the injured male into my new assailant. They crunch as they meet midair, and the floor vibrates as they crash into it.

Yup, I'm still smirking. Maybe a bit bigger than a few moments ago.

The last Alpha is so furious for his companions that he doesn't seem to recognize the threat he is dealing with. He squares off with me and jabs his fist towards my chest.

I don't dodge. This is too much fun. I meet him head on. Pain radiates through my chest and I legitimately cannot stop smiling, even as my fist smashes into his throat.

A few more swings and quick movements, and suddenly he's flying. The look of shock and pain on his face soothes the beast inside of me.

He smashes onto the bar top. Even dazed from the landing and ridiculously drunk, he keeps trying to fight me. He pulls in his knees and kicks out his legs, attempting to kick me.