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They slept in what Quinn would deem must have once been an asylum.

Within stoney unfurnished walls of crumbling physical infrastructure, six Alphas were assigned to a tiny room so small that it was enough for her to feel claustrophobia creeping in her throat. Curtains were the only barriers that protected her from the rest, each bed stacked upon another in a cesspool of body odour.

Quinn had a space to herself at the top bunk, her name stamped to the edge, the ceiling kissed the tips of her forehead when she laid down upon a plank wrapped in a plastic sheet. The pillow was as hard as rocks, and she put it away in exchange for a little more space between her and the ceiling.

They were cots, metallic and rusting-like beds from the army or a ward for the mentally ill in an asylum.

There was a single bathroom plastered to the corner hidden by another plastic sheet. It was limited to a single hose from the top as the shower and the sink, with a squatting toilet at the base which promised a lifetime of a room that smelled like human waste.

And yet her roommates had marvelled at the incredible access to running water. Quinn had simply stared, a little incredulous, extremely disappointed. She had better things with much lesser, but the others had smiles. It wasn't too bad for them, and their happiness grew when basic necessities were provided, their first set for being good at the blood bank.

Tampons, a toothbrush and a comb.

Pathetic.

Her peers had been delighted, and seemed genuinely happy over the little items, quickly accepting the space that they had. The gummy scent of moulding walls and the ripeness of wet paint splashed over the walls.

Quinn sniffed, hands pouring over the roughness of what this room could have been. And wondered if they laid quite prettily in what would later be their coffins, beds that could be easily burned and tossed.

The collar on their necks was always turned on, and Quinn found that they had an almost impossible mechanism within. Her brows had furrowed, and lips curved downwards. There was magic within, blood dipped within the wiring.

She'd say that it was the vampires, their magic twisting within the veins of the metal, preventing tampering and keeping it afloat. And a single wrong move could send her head flying off her body, the taps of her finger upon the wiring told her enough of the strength that was held within the clasp. Quinn gave up after that, her disappointment ballooning in her chest.

On the first night, she struggled to sleep, for the lights dimmed but never turned off. The unsettling whir of a camera spun from the ceiling, monitoring their every move. There was always a team of patrolling Omega, soldiers with guns, batons and swords. They weren't afraid to use them. And Quinn swore she heard echoing screams down the halls, piercing as they broke through the snores of her roommates.

The sun was beating down from bars in the ceiling when she awoke, flashing bright and hot into her eyes revealing nothing of her location but the endless blue of the sky. And she'd brushed her teeth first with the cheap grimy paste they offered with her feet plastered to the sides of the squatting toilet.

They had been marched to a food hall to the sight of three bodies swinging from the ceiling, each with a different death from a different act of disobedience. Quinn had stared, felt fear pool in her guts at the burns on one, the loss of a head-on another, and the lack of limbs from the third. The first had tried to escape her room, the second had tampered with her collar, and the third had reached for an Omega soldier and tried to rape him.

The disgust had coiled deep in her throat, the rage expanding in her chest. God, they were prisoners and the Alphas had the audacity to try? Were they fucking insane? The women hanging from the ceiling weren't females from their department but they might as well have been.

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