Belonging

Lights, camera, acción. I'll do it on my own.

Dropping a beta male off alone far away was the equivalent to shooting someone in the foot and leaving them in your basement, becoming a rouge was a death sentence without the chair. They would track into god knows who's territory, that is if they could survive long enough without a pack.

It eerily calmed Gerard, imagining the accused below him tied and left to die in the middle of the woods. He waned to see it all from a distance, watch them like ants.

He looks down to them now, Frank listing off things in a loud, almost bored voice.
Everything was repetitive. The same facts listed over and over, followed by a sharp slice of guilty.

No one was doing this because the fate of anyone thrown into that deep pit in the ground wasn't already sealed. There was no question about what was to happen.

The trials were pure taunting. Bragging. A type of closure, if wolves needed those. It was the Iero pack happily rolling in their victory, Frank conducting over everything to add to the ever growing pile of bullshit that he called his ego.

It was self-image propaganda, and Gerard was loving every second of it.

He recognizes the man down below now as one of Bert's brothers. A nameless face matched with a hairstyle that looked like it was meant to be flat ironed every morning. Metal pierces his skin ten fold of Frank's, resembling Pinhead. Gerard remembers the brother tripping him on their way into the car from Cali.

Each member would be brought from one of the Jeeps in the hands of an Iero pack member. Usually the tallest, a big mop of curly hair sitting on top his head. The guilty would be rather pushed into the dirt pit, because giving in was for cunts and growing up with Bert, if you knew anything at all about Bert, must have made them the most evil people to walk this side of Jersey.

So there he sat, with his not-straight fringe and his ten too many piercings, sharp yellow teeth grinning up at Gerard as Frank read out the rest of his life before the eyes of a hundred downcast gazes.

The smile was unnerving, so akin to Bert's. Like he knew something Gerard didn't.

This must have been the twentieth member to be there, the order slowly working up in the ranks with each person. If this was Bert's brother, the infamous commander must be making his debut soon. Maybe Gerard's mother would be sitting next to him in line, but the omega doubts he'll hear her nastily voice ever again after her words on her husband's death.

She would have wound a way to do it, maybe even ripping up her precious designer clothes to hang off the bars of her cell in the McCracken basement. Gerard can imagine her struggling to tie a noose with the acrylic nails she insisted on wearing.

He inwardly smiles at the thought before looking down back to Bert's brother, meeting his gaze with a blank face.

The tall man with the curly hair comes back after Frank's finished speaking, throwing a ladder down into the pit for him to crawl out.
The beta climbs up, being grabbed roughly as he's dragged back to the Jeeps. He's hand cuffed to the vehicle and watched as they bring out the next person in line.

Gerard sighs as Frank's hand shifts closer to his own, their pinkies touching on the sort of rail/mound of dirt that ran across the opening of the alcove.

Frank knows who's coming next, subconsciously stepping closer to Gerard as the teen squints through the trees, breath held in his chest.