Chapter Text
Mickey stared at the churning gray waves in front of him, looking for answers, yet finding more questions.
This should feel like freedom. On the ocean, weak sunlight, wind. No guards or alphas in ruts. Just a scrawny, decrepit old man driving and the other omega, who also was transfixed on the white-crested waves. The other omega's face was a mask of contemplation, mirroring Mickey's own turmoil. Together, they shared an unspoken nervousness, both adrift in their thoughts as the boat rocked violently.
The Omega Correctional Center had been his home for the past 11 years. He had torn an artery of a drunk alpha who tried to mark him in an alley. Since 19, he had been a ward of the state. An omega who shamed society. His life in an 8 by 8 cell and the dreaded yard. OCC was not about correction. It was pure penance.
Because God forbid an omega was anything but soft and helpless.
Mickey never was and could never pretend to be.
He paid for that. Every fucking day for 11 motherfucking years.
The omegas at the center were nothing more than toys and, many times, holes for the state. He could never avoid the beatings , but the portly warden took a shine to him. He was rarely used by the masses for rut. The warden just enjoyed a blowjob a few times a week. He was clean and pencil-dicked, so no big whoop for Mickey.
No matter who you fucked, you could not hide from the pain. Mickey was often beaten several times a day, the guards betting on how long he could endure the beating before making a sound.
His personal best was 13 minutes.
Mickey had learned to suppress his cries, a skill that only deepened his rage in a place where silence was both a shield and a sham. Each blow served as a grim reminder of his vulnerability, yet he clung to the flicker of hope that one day he might escape this relentless cycle of pain.
He shivered, hoping the other omega would think he was just cold. The salty air was frigid, but all Mickey had was his denim correctional jumpsuit, a tattered sweater, and cheap work boots. He was frozen to the bone but was in the cold his whole life. He was shivering because of what he agreed to.
One life sentence, traded for another. Just a different location.
The center often offered rich alphas the omegas who wanted to be somewhere besides their rotting cells. So they became caregivers for elderly or frail Alphas. Feeding them, wiping asses, the younger ones in their 60s popping Viagra for a go at a hole. Still a fuck ton better than being chained in stocks and caned 100 times. But as he stood there, contemplating the choices he made, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that loomed over him. The trade-off felt like a cruel joke, a reminder that freedom came at a steep price, one he would pay daily in the quiet desperation of his new life.
So originally, when they offered Mickey this new sentence, he jumped at the chance and said yes. As the week to leaving got closer , he started to notice things. He had no information about his new Alpha. No one would answer him , not even a friggin name. He was driven to an airport, knocked out, and woke up in New England. Shoved on a boat with an old man and an omega named Lip. Lip looked like he was about to shit himself. And the asshole had not yet said one word to him.
He bummed a cigarette from the captain and puffed smoke in perfect rings. Still no clue about the geriatric viagroid he would be toting around a now apparent island home. Less chance of escape. His sense of wariness grew as his new prison came into view. High, ragged cliffs, a broken lighthouse, and a large white estate at the height of the cliff.
The neglected home was still a palace compared to his childhood home and the OCC. But a tiny smidge of fear began to buzz in his brain. The thought of being trapped in such a grand yet decaying place filled him with dread, as he wondered what secrets it held within its crumbling walls. More important, who was the unnamed Alpha inside those walls, and what was wrong with him to keep Mickey in the dark? He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited him inside, knowing that escape might not be an option this time.
No, this is not feeling like a new prison.
He crushed out the cigarette.
This felt like a trap.