Gina fidgets a little as she follows.
The omega can't help but feel slightly lost.
Just how big is this place anyway?
Fortunately or unfortunately, she doesn't really know anymore, they stop in front of a heavy door and she turns and thrusts a bundle of clothing into Gina's arms: plain gray shirts, matching pants, underthings so generic they might as well be bandages.
"Make yourself presentable. You're already behind."
Then she turns and walks away without another word.
Gina is alone again.
***
Gina doesn't move at first. Just stands there in the sterile hallway with the bundle in her arms and shame in her throat.
The lab assistant is already gone, her heels clicking back down the corridor and fading with each second that passes.
The silence stretches.
And it presses down on her like a living entity.
'I shouldn't be here', Gina thinks, not for the first time and certainly not the last, ' I shouldn't have had to come to a place like this'.
But then her grandfather's voice echoes in her head, warm, rough with age and the weight of too many years bent over too many floors.
"Don't worry about me,Gina," he told her last week, coughing into a cloth spotted with red. "You go live your life. Be better than all this."
But she can't be better than all this. Not when the hospital keeps sending bills for his meds.
Not when the landlord bangs louder each month.
Not when collectors hover like wolves at the door, asking about the old man in the chair with the trembling hands.
'It's me or him', she told herself when she submitted the application. 'And he gave me my life.The least I can do is give him some more time with his.'
So she'd walked in with her heart in her throat, and when the people on the other end of that goddess forsaken interview had told her she wasn't qualified, she had begged.
Not because she lacked pride, but because she had something to lose.
Her vision blurs from the lain in her chest. She presses her lips together and exhales slowly through her nose.
She'll do anything for him.
Because he's all she has.
And she refuses to bury him over money.
Taking a deep breath, she pushes the door open.
The metal gives a low creak before it reveals the place she'll be calling home for thr next few days.
The dormitory is a long, narrow room with two rows of bunks lining the walls, each bed made with the same white practical sheets.
The air is thick with the muted scents of perfume, shampoo, and sweat- seven other women already living, breathing, waiting inside.
As she steps in, all heads turn.
She feels it immediately: the temperature drop, the sharp feeling of being evaluated.
Seven pairs of eyes cut through her like scalpels. One girl with platinum blonde hair and brown eyes lounges on a top bunk with her knees crossed and a magazine in her hands.
Another blonde is mid-push-up near the far wall, her sleek arms glistening with sweat.
A third stands near the mirror, adjusting her dark ponytail and not bothering to hide the way her nose wrinkles.
They look at her like she's a something rotten that's at the bottom of their shoes. Or worse, like she's nothing.
"Fresh meat," someone murmurs.
A soft laugh follows, dry and cruel.
"Not just any fresh meat.. a Runt," says one of the girls on the bed, her voice coated in something saccharine and venomous.
Gina's instincts flare. Her omega nose twitches, picking up what little she can without blockers.
Three betas; high level, she can tell by the sharp scents that oozes off them like oil. Four omegas, like her, but stronger, cleaner, bred for this.
One of them tosses her hair and scoffs.
Definitely Tier Two (Mid level)
Gina clutches her clothes tighter, her shoulders folding inward.
"She's definitely the pity pick then," the girl, a beta at the mirror says, tilting her head to inspect her teeth. "They let her in because she begged."
"Pathetic," The blonde working out grunts before resuming her sets.
Gina forces herself to move toward the only empty bunk.
It's on the lower row, next to the trash bin.
Of course it is.
She sets her bag down and sits stiffly, ignoring the way their eyes track her.
She's shaking pretty badly. But she won't cry.
Not in front of them.
"You better stay out of our way," one of the betas says coolly.
She's tall, copper-skinned, with sharp cheekbones and a voice like crushed ice. "We're not here to babysit you."
Gina swallows. "I- I didn't aks- " she stammers but she's cut off rudely.
"We don't care," the ponytail girl snaps. "We're not here to play house. We're here to win."
Another candidate, a soft-faced omega with dark curls, leans forward, her voice syrupy sweet. "Can your level even slick properly?" she asks rather crudely, mean curiosity in her eyes as she appraises Gina.