Chapter 5

Five Years Later

"Three credits. That's what you get."

Daphne Quinn stared at the payment notification hovering above her wrist device.

LABOR COMPLETED: 9 HOURS, 42 MINUTES.

CREDITS RECEIVED: 3.

She looked up at her supervisor. "You can't be serious."

Mr. Harlan barely glanced away from his terminal. "Do you have a problem with your payment?"

"I worked almost ten hours today. I processed three hundred vials, cleaned the containment chambers, and covered for two people who didn't show up. You paid me three credits."

"And?"

Daphne gripped the edge of his desk.

"My son needs medication. You know that. I asked for a fair wage, not charity."

Harlan finally turned his chair toward her.

"Then perhaps you should have worked harder."

She stared at him.

"Harder?"

"You've become lazy, Quinn. Your output has dropped, and your attitude has become a problem. If anything, I should deduct credits for the time you wasted arguing with me."

"I haven't taken a single break today."

"Would you like me to terminate your contract?"

Daphne's jaw tightened.

The laboratory produced Omega-grade Wolfsbane, a compound used to suppress dangerous surges in unstable wolf cores. The stronger versions were reserved for upper-ranked Werewolves, while the cheaper formulas were distributed throughout Omega City.

Every day, Daphne handled substances that could burn through protective gloves if improperly contained. Every day, she went home smelling of chemicals, with aching hands and a back that seemed permanently bent.

She had endured it for five years.

"Please," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Could you at least pay me the standard rate for today's shift?"

Harlan laughed.

"Standard rate? Look around you, Quinn. Half the people in this building would take your position for less."

He tapped his terminal.

"Three credits. Take them or leave them. And if you want to keep working here, I suggest you learn some gratitude."

Daphne looked at the payment notification again.

Three credits.

She could argue until morning, but it wouldn't change anything. Harlan knew she couldn't afford to lose her job. He had counted on that from the beginning.

She straightened.

"Fine."

"Good. Your next shift begins at six tomorrow. Don't be late."

Daphne walked out without answering.

The laboratory doors closed behind her, sealing away the chemical stink and the humming machinery. She stood outside for a moment, rubbing her sore fingers together.

A thin line of blood ran across her thumb where a damaged glove had split during the final batch.

She wiped it against her trousers.

Then she started walking.

---

Omega City looked worse after sunset.

The streets were crowded with exhausted workers, illegal vendors, and delivery drones struggling to navigate between damaged buildings. A public screen above a transport station advertised luxury apartments in Imperial City.

YOUR BLOOD. YOUR RANK. YOUR FUTURE.

Beneath the slogan, an SS-Class Alpha stood beside a silver-haired woman in an elegant white dress.

Daphne didn't bother looking at their faces.

She had learned to ignore advertisements promising a better life. Those promises weren't meant for people like her.

Her wrist device vibrated.

She raised it.

AVAILABLE BALANCE: 250 CREDITS.

Daphne stopped walking.

She checked the figure again, although she already knew it wouldn't change.

Two hundred and fifty credits. Three credits from today's shift. The rest had taken weeks to accumulate.

It wasn't enough. Not even close.

She opened Hermes's medical file.

PATIENT: HERMES QUINN

GENETIC CLASSIFICATION: UNREGISTERED ANOMALY

PRESCRIBED TREATMENT: WOLFCORE STABILIZATION TONIC

ESTIMATED COST: 1,800 CREDITS PER DOSE

A warning flashed beneath the prescription.

MISSED DOSES MAY RESULT IN IRREVERSIBLE GENETIC DETERIORATION.

Daphne locked the screen.

"I'm trying, baby," she whispered.

Five years ago, the first medical scanner had declared her newborn son human. No wolf core. No wolf pulse and no recognizable supernatural energy.

She had refused to accept that there was something wrong with him.

Hermes was her son. That was enough.

The Wolfcore tonic helped him maintain enough strength to walk, eat, and play like other children.

Without it, his condition deteriorated.

With it, he could almost forget that his body was fighting against itself.

Almost.

Daphne slipped the device into her pocket and continued home.

She would find the money somehow. She always did.

---

A crowd had gathered around the public screen near the entrance to the residential district. Daphne would normally have walked past without looking. Then she heard a familiar name.

"...a remarkable achievement for someone who began his life in Omega City."

Her feet stopped.

The screen displayed a man standing behind a polished podium, surrounded by reporters and officials.

TRENT COOPER

ALPHA OF THE IMPERIAL PACK