Page 195

THE FINAL TOAST

~JINX~

I sit cross-legged on the institutional floor, staring at the crystal glass filled with suspiciously clear liquid that appeared alongside our victory feast.

The refreshments materialized through hidden panels the moment we completed Corvus's psychological gauntlet—food and drink that speaks to celebration rather than simple sustenance.

Too convenient.

Too perfectly timed.

Too fucking suspicious.

"It's probably poisoned," I announce with characteristic directness while rotating the glass between my palms, liquid catching fluorescent lighting with prismatic clarity that seems almost too pure for institutional provision.

The collective sigh from my four Alphas resonates through the chamber with exasperation that suggests this isn't the first time I've questioned institutional generosity or administrative motivation during our reunification process.

"The timer is almost up," Riot states with practical assessment that acknowledges temporal pressure whileexpressing frustration at my continued hesitation. "We all drank ours and we're fine."

His irritation carries territorial undertones that speak to Alpha protective instincts warring with tactical impatience.

Pack leadership demanding progression over unnecessary caution, yet Alpha biology recognizes legitimate concern about potential threats to Omega welfare and continued survival.

"Look at us," Ash adds with sardonic gesture that encompasses their obviously functional states despite consuming identical refreshments. "Do we look poisoned to you?"

His scarred features carry amusement beneath surface exasperation.

Six years of institutional torture has apparently refined his appreciation for irony and dark humor, survival creating perspective that transforms potential death into casual conversation topic.

"Still suspicious," I maintain with stubborn conviction that acknowledges their logic while expressing continued wariness about institutional motivation and administrative timing.

Something about perfect provision feels calculated rather than generous.

Press doesn't operate through simple kindness or genuine consideration for subject welfare. Every gesture serves specific purpose within broader strategic framework designed to achieve institutional objectives rather than pack satisfaction.

"It would be foolish for Press to try killing you off now when we're so close," Ash observes with tactical precision that acknowledges institutional investment alongside entertainment value. "Too much audience investment, too much revenue potential."

The assessment carries disturbing accuracy about our status as entertainment rather than test subjects.

Understanding that survival depends on maintaining audience engagement and commercial viability rather than simple institutional curiosity or scientific advancement.

"But we have to be logical about it," Riot counters with alpha authority that demands rational assessment over emotional reaction or instinctive suspicion.

His leadership assertion triggers immediate response from Sable's judicial nature.

"That's the most reasonable thing an Alpha leader could say," Sable responds with mock praise that carries sardonic appreciation beneath surface acknowledgment. "Such intelligence. Such tactical brilliance."

The backhanded compliment lands with surgical precision designed to irritate rather than genuinely appreciate.

Judicial observation masked as territorial recognition, analytical assessment disguised as pack hierarchy acknowledgment.

Riot's expression darkens with territorial challenge that bypasses diplomatic consideration in favor of direct confrontation and physical threat.

"Fuck off or I'll punch your face," he growls with promise that carries absolute conviction despite obvious pack loyalty and cooperative necessity.

Alpha territorialism asserting dominance over judicial condescension and intellectual superiority.

Designation dynamics operating beyond rational consideration when pride and authority intersect with systematic pressure and environmental stress.