Page 2 of The Bounty

If I need to, I can flee from here in under a minute.

But I’ve been lucky for the last weeks. So far, in this abandoned neighborhood, no police have come through. Occasionally, a drone flies overhead, but they’re easy to avoid if I only go out at night to retrieve supplies.

I wouldn’t have needed to go out for at least another week if I hadn’t stepped on the broken bottle, which I somehow overlooked in my desperate attempt to clear the area of trash and dirt.

The throbbing in my foot brings me back to a grim reality—I need to leave my safe zone soon.

And I really don’t want to.

Any time I leave this hovel, it’s a risk. Even though I dress in baggy clothes and keep my bright crimson hair secured under a hat, it only takes a few moments to recognize what I truly am.

AnOmega.

One that absolutely should not be wandering the ruined streets of a North Hollywood neighborhood.

The suppressants that pulse through my veins and taint my blood are illegal. Anyone caught with them in their possession is immediately arrested.

Or, in my case, detoxed, then taken to a gilded cage tucked away in Beverly Hills.

If I think about it for too long, I’ll go insane.

So instead, I focus on planning what my next days will be like.

It would be easier to keep up with current events if I could access the internet, or just turn on my phone.

But using a cell phone or powering up a laptop risks letting authorities know exactly where I am.

Facial recognition or fingerprint identification is needed to power on either device, making it easy to track my location in a matter of moments.

If I turn on my phone, I have about two minutes before flashing sirens would show up outside the crumbled apartment complex.

My only source of current events is the small handheld radio I swiped from an abandoned electronic store.

Ignoring the burn in my foot, I switch on the device and turn to a public news station, listening eagerly.

But it’s still the same.

Money talks.

The Alphas in power wanted access to Omegas.

And now, they have it.

I switch the channels, listening through static to find a debate on a local network.

“They’re treated better than any other citizens! They have access to the best doctors, the best nutrition—anything they could ever want!”

“…has strengthened California’s economy…”

“Their bodies now belong to the tax payers…”

I listen to the arguments,to the impassioned speeches from multiple leaders.

Yet the consensus is always the same.

It’s best for the economy.

And the Omegas don’t suffer—they have access that people would kill for.