Page 36 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kara
The sound that woke me was the wild staccato of fingers on keys, a frenetic, focused rhythm that reminded me of a war drum.
I cracked an eye to witness Ash, massive and motionless at the foot of my bed, somehow wedged into a desk chair clearly borrowed from somewhere else in the house.
The laptop’s glow cast blue shadows across the sharp ledges of his face, making the whole scene look almost cinematic.
"You watching me sleep?" My voice rasped out, gravel rough from the emotional thrashing of yesterday. “That’s creepy, even for an Alpha.”
He didn’t flinch or look up. “Your medical records are being scrubbed from major platforms. I’m writing code to automate DMCA takedowns.”
The words detonated a flood of memory: Stella’s leak, the ensuing mob, the way the pack had closed ranks around me instantly. I shoved myself upright, noticing I was still fully dressed from the previous night. I must have just folded at some point and blacked out.
“What time is it?”
“Four seventeen A.M.,” Ash replied, fingers still flying. “You’ve been out for about three hours.”
“And you’ve been what, standing guard while coding?”
Now, finally, he glanced up. The gray of his eyes was muted in the screen glow, unreadable. “Someone needed to monitor your condition. Dr. Patel said stress could trigger withdrawal symptoms or unscheduled heats.”
He said it so dryly it didn’t land at first. He’d been sitting here, fighting my battle online while also keeping physical watch over my prognosis. The quiet efficiency of it, the bone-deep protectiveness that didn’t require talking about it, all hit me at once.
“Thanks,” I managed. Weak, but real.
Ash just nodded, attention already back on the command line. “Reid’s statement went live an hour ago. It’s gaining traction.”
I blinked. “Reid made a statement?”
He reached for his phone, queued up a video, and passed it over wordlessly.
The first thing in the frame was Reid’s face. His jaw was set, gaze all steel, simmering with an anger that made my pulse spike. He sat before the Pack Wrecked backdrop, every inch of him Alpha to the core, radiating don’t-mess-with-my-people energy.
"By now, many of you have seen the medical records and personal documents leaked without consent by another content creator,” he said, voice calm but packed with the kind of authority that could quiet a football stadium. “I won't dignify the leak by linking to it, but I will address it directly."
He leaned in, eyes dark and dangerous.
“The invasion of Kara Quinn’s privacy through the illegal sharing of protected medical information is not whistle-blowing. It’s not truth-seeking. It’s targeted harassment designed to destroy someone’s career and potentially their health.”
I had to inhale slowly to keep from shaking while he kept rolling, bullets for words.
“Yes, Quinn was on suppressants. Yes, she presented as Beta when she’s Omega.
But before you judge those choices, ask yourself what forces in our industry might drive a sixteen-year-old girl to make them.
Ask yourself why an Omega might feel the need to hide their designation to be taken seriously as a competitor. ”
He let it land, silent and certain.
“As for accusations of ‘performance enhancement’? That’s scientifically false. Military-grade suppressants hinder cognitive function, slow reaction time, and dampen sensory perception. Quinn wasn’t winning because of these substances; she was winning despite them.”
I felt it then, pride blooming in my chest. He wasn’t making excuses for me. He was spelling out the reality, with a logic sharp enough to cut.
“Pack Wrecked stands with Kara Quinn unconditionally. Not just as content partners, but as her pack. Anyone who comes for her comes for all of us.”
It ended there. No apology. No hedging. Just a challenge, as naked and raw as it gets.
“When did he record this?” I asked, handing the phone back like it might burn me.
“After you passed out. None of us wanted to wake you.” Ash flashed a glance. “The others made statements, too.”
I grabbed my own phone. Plugged in next to the bed. Hands shaking a little, I thumbed open a random social media platform and found a landscape completely changed from the night before.
#PackProtection was everywhere. Clips from all five Alphas lighting up the gaming world.
Theo’s usual chaos weaponized against designation discrimination.
Jace in his signature undertone, slicing to ribbons the concept of privacy violations.
Malik, ever the anchor, methodical and unflinching laying out how suppressants impacted the body and mind.
And Ash, in cold detail, breaking down why every “performance enhancer” accusation was pure garbage.
Five flavors. Same message: we’re here, and we’re not backing down.
But it wasn’t that that kicked my breath out of me.
It was the swarm of responses from the rest of the industry.
Callie Cross streaming, wrangling Omega creators into open solidarity.
Alphas, Betas, even male Omegas, all the people who’d been forced to either camouflage or inflame their own nature just to make it.
Names I’d idolized admitting they’d been manipulated by the same system.
“It’s working,” I whispered. “They’re actually listening.”
Ash looked up, pausing his coding. “People respond to truth delivered with strength. Your statement hit hardest.”
I’d almost forgotten my own post, written and sent in a moment of heat before exhaustion finally knocked me out. When I went to my timeline, I saw the numbers first: millions of likes, millions of shares, a river of comments that looked almost algorithmic.
But it wasn’t numbers that mattered. It was the words I’d thrown out, uncensored:
For eight years, I poisoned myself to be taken seriously in an industry that sees Omegas as punchlines or sex objects. I built my career on a lie because the truth wasn't allowed in the room. That ends today.
These medical records Stella leaked? They tell only half the story. They show the WHAT but not the WHY.
The WHY is an industry that told a sixteen-year-old girl she could either be an Omega sideshow or a "marketable" Beta.
The WHY is a management company that provided illegal suppressants to dozens of young creators while knowing the health consequences.
The WHY is a system that profits from designation discrimination while pretending it doesn't exist.
I made choices I'm not proud of. Choices that have permanently damaged my health. But I won't apologize for fighting to exist in a space that wanted to erase me.
To every young Omega watching this unfold, know this, you shouldn't have to poison yourself to be taken seriously. You shouldn't have to hide who you are to be valued for what you do.
To Nexus Management and Victoria Smith, Your time is up. I'm not the only one you've exploited, but I'm determined to be the last.
To Stella, You thought exposing my designation would destroy me. Instead, you've freed me from the prison I built around myself. I'm Kara Quinn. Omega, competitor, survivor. And I'm just getting started.
I could barely recognize myself in the words, but I couldn’t deny the truth of them, either. The anger, the resolve. The refusal to be boxed in.
Ash was watching me when I looked up.
“This could still backfire,” I said, running a thumb along the edge of my phone. There were ways this could go so, so wrong. “Victoria has connections everywhere. Sponsors could still blacklist me. The platform investigation…”
“Let them try,” he cut in. Flat. Final. “They’d be going against public opinion, medical evidence, and five very pissed off Alphas with a combined following larger than most small countries.”
I laughed, sharp and surprised. “When you put it that way…”
“Besides.” He hit enter, eyes flicking back to code. “Legal’s already prepping cease and desists. Malik’s connected with three designation rights orgs. Theo’s followers are purging every account reposting your records.”
“And Jace?”
“Editing a documentary,” Ash replied, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Collecting testimonials from other suppressed creators. He’s been at it all night.”
The seamlessness of it, the way every pack member had immediately found a way to protect, to defend, to create narrative, it left me hollowed out and rebuilt all at the same time. This wasn’t just camaraderie. This was pack instinct in action.
My pack.
The realization slotted into place. These weren’t just temporary alliances, they weren’t just about contracts or even survival. I belonged here. They belonged with me.
“You should rest more,” Ash said, breaking the stretch of silence. “Tomorrow will be intense.”
“I don’t think I can sleep. Too wired.”
He nodded, the faintest suggestion of a smile. “Want to help?”
“If you mean with code, I’d just slow you down.”
“Not code,” he said, and pivoted the laptop to show me a CAD blueprint. Custom streaming hardware, it looked like. Adaptive controls, sensory modulation interfaces, tool tips blinking with notes.
“What is that?”
“Designation-adaptive tech. For Omegas with sensory processing issues.” His eyes met mine over the rim of the screen. “For you specifically. But scalable, if others need it.”
The precision of it, the calculation, the fact that he’d noticed my problem and designed a solution without me ever asking, it flattened me for a second.
“You’ve been working on it for a while.”
“Since your first withdrawal episode.”
He didn’t dress it up. “Your sensory spikes have patterns. I’ve been mapping them.”
“So I can keep streaming even with destabilized senses,” I realized, the logic slotting into place. “You’re building me a way forward.”
Shrug. “It’s just engineering.”
But we both knew it was more than that. It was a lifeline, disguised as blueprints and specs. Hope as a schematic, with my name on the prototype.