“Member No. 1488, Omega-class registrant Bharat Nazar, welcome back to the Cape Flats. Please rise and proceed to the exit in accordance with the guides’ instructions. Your assigned rental unit is Basement Unit 14, Apartment 948, Complex 9, Mandalay 33rd Intersection. ^^
Failure to comply with interface directives will result in one warning of electric paralysis. Continued noncompliance will result in a second paralysis warning. Further resistance will result in incapacitation and transfer to holding detention.”
Bharat Nazar stared blankly at the interface, then slowly turned his gaze toward the black silhouettes surrounding him.
The “guides” who had just been beating him had stopped. Now they simply watched, as though waiting—waiting for him to defy the interface.
Whatever “electric paralysis” was, it seemed to frighten even them more than blunt-force violence.
With a groan, Bharat pressed a bloodied hand against his knee and forced himself upright.
“…Ugh… first time I’ve ever been beaten like that. Damn it… watch it, you ‘guides,’ you bastards.”
The silhouettes twitched faintly at his words.
Even if they couldn’t see him, the beeping tone must have signaled speech—probably enough for them to assume he was insulting them. Fair enough. Whenever they emitted those electronic tones, he assumed they were cursing too. In truth, they probably were. Both sides were.
Clutching his waist, Bharat staggered toward the station stairs, a strained groan escaping him with each step.
The station interior was chaos.
Most Omegas and Femmes had finally grasped their situation and were slowly rising, groaning in pain. Others, still dazed, remained seated, staring blankly at their interfaces—until a jolt of electric paralysis struck them. Foam gathered at their lips as they collapsed twitching onto the floor.
At that moment, the guide-like silhouettes all turned simultaneously toward the paralyzed individuals, emitting a chorus of sharp beeps. They didn’t raise their batons again. The atmosphere didn’t feel tense.
If anything, they seemed amused.
“…Do these lunatics just laugh at this kind of thing every day? Unbelievable…”
The moment Bharat muttered under his breath, the laughing “guides” abruptly fell silent and turned toward him.
He froze.
They could only hear his beeping voice, but the length of it must have betrayed tone—complaint, perhaps mockery. One of the silhouettes slowly lifted its baton again.
“…Ah—ah, hey. No need to get angry.”
He waved his hands hastily and shuffled up the stairs.
A guide standing at the stairway shoved him forward with a baton, nearly causing him to trip. The stairwell ahead was jammed with Omegas and Femmes packed shoulder to shoulder.
Instinctively, Bharat grabbed someone’s arm to steady himself and looked up.
The woman whose arm he had seized went pale.
“…Ah—sorry. I wasn’t trying to touch you. I just… needed to move forward.”
Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded pathetic.
Should he tell the truth—that he had almost fallen? That would be even less believable.
After all, everyone here had only just received their Omega or Femme designation. They had been raised all their lives to believe Omegas and Femmes were rapists, thieves, murderers—social vermin. Now those same “vermin” filled the stairwell around them. Of course they would assume harassment before anything else.
Humans were hypocritical like that.
Blind to their own circumstances, yet quick to judge the person beside them.
The woman’s eyes flashed with contempt—then dropped to the blue Evil Eye talisman hanging from his neck. Omegas and Femmes often wore such charms to ward off misfortune believed to spread among their kind. Realization dawned: he was no different from her.
She lowered her gaze, still wary, and let him pass.
For a moment she stood there in a daze. Then she curled into a corner and began to sob quietly.
Moments later, electric paralysis struck her. She collapsed unconscious and was dragged away by the silhouettes. The surrounding Omegas and Femmes watched with muted sympathy before continuing on their way.
Bharat etched her image into his memory.
Faded dirty-blonde hair.
A sharp nose.
Fierce eyes.
An utterly ordinary woman—perhaps even an attractive one.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Why someone so ordinary had been deemed genetically inferior alongside him, he could not fathom. But then again, had the criteria for dividing people ever been rational? She looked slightly depressed, perhaps—but exiling her to a place like this instead of treating her would hardly mend society.
After a moment’s thought, Bharat dismissed it as none of his concern and continued climbing the stairs.
Once he passed the ticket gates, the guides lost interest and simply let him go. Apparently their role ended there. The interface had instructed him to follow the guides to his apartment, but from their perspective, a thorough beating was enough to ensure compliance.
Scratching his head, Bharat turned and began walking along Mandalay 33rd Intersection as directed by the interface.
Before long, he found Apartment 948, Complex 9.
A staircase led downward.
Basement Level 1—Units 1 and 2.
Level 2.
Level 3.
The numbers grew as he descended, deeper and deeper underground.
Only upon reaching Basement Level 7 did Unit 14 finally appear.
He peered down the stairwell.
The abyss stretched far below, still unfathomably deep.
“…These lunatics built this place like a structural nightmare. Feels like an underground parking complex.”
Grumbling, he pulled out a cigarette—then noticed the no-smoking sign on the wall and clicked his tongue, climbing back up a few steps. He rummaged through his pockets and rolled his eyes.
“…Damn it. Forgot my lighter. It’s in my suit…”
Only then did he remember: he had been dragged away by guards two hours earlier without his jacket.
Unlucky to the end.
Glancing around, he spotted a woman smoking nearby.
Red hair. Pale skin dotted with freckles. Piercings in her ears and nose. She looked like a rebellious, grown-up version of Anne of Green Gables who had never gone to an orphanage and instead picked fights with her parents through adolescence.
Bharat approached her.
“Got a light?”
She flinched violently and stared at him.
“…W-What? Were you talking to me?”
Her cigarette slipped from her lips.
Bharat looked at her, puzzled. It was unlikely she feared him for his coffee-toned skin; in this wretched city, race was one of the few things people no longer discriminated against. As he bent to pick up her dropped cigarette, she stepped back nervously.
He handed it to her.
“…By the way, I’m curious. You’re a Femme, right? When you came here… did the upper classes appear as black silhouettes too? I was wondering if it only applied to men.”
She studied him warily before answering.
“…Most people living here are black silhouettes. Everyone except Omegas like you. Even on television… you can’t see them at all.”
With that, she hesitated awkwardly and hurried into the building, sprinting down the stairs. When Bharat looked over the railing, she was already dashing past Basement Level 2.
He dropped her cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot.
“…No basic manners around here. Tch.”
A heavy door slammed somewhere deep below.
He didn’t know how far down she lived, but it sounded just as deep—and just as hopeless—as his own assigned dwelling.
Unable to smoke after all, Bharat descended again to Basement Level 7. With a weary sigh, he pressed the interface at the back of his neck.
The interface activated.
A lock icon appeared over the door of Unit 14.
He pressed his finger against it.
“Fingerprint authentication complete. Welcome, Bharat Nazar.”
The door slid open.
The room was unexpectedly spacious—roughly seventy square meters, large enough for a family of four. Perhaps, in its own twisted way, it was a form of consideration. After all, populations in slum zones like this tended to multiply rapidly.
Sighing, Bharat sank onto the sofa. His eyes drifted to the refrigerator.
“…That thing… maybe there’s at least some food? Neighbors might appreciate it if I shared.”
He opened it.
Empty.
Save for a single shriveled carrot lying alone inside.
He shut the door.
“…Damn it. Are they planning to starve us to death?”
Ding—
The interface flickered to life.
“Member No. 1488, Omega-class registrant Bharat Nazar, welcome to your residence at Basement Unit 14, Apartment 948, Complex 9, Mandalay 33rd Intersection. Beginning tomorrow, please assemble at the Central Plaza of the Cape Flats for vocational assignment roll call. You will undergo a one-month trial placement at the designated workplace.
If your access compliance and performance evaluation scores exceed the quota, you will be confirmed for official employment after one month.
If you fail, you will be granted three additional opportunities.
Afterward, job selection will conclude and you will receive monthly shelter ration vouchers.
In that case, future occupational outcomes will depend solely on your personal effort and choices.
We wish you the best of luck in achieving excellent results. ^^”
The interface powered down.
Bharat stared into empty air.
“…What a joke… Dump people into a ruin like this and then talk about ‘freedom of career choice.’ How the hell am I supposed to pass performance evaluations without a real job to begin with…?”
He leaned back into the sofa, eyes drifting aimlessly. After a moment, he grabbed the remote and tried to turn on the television.
It didn’t power on.
He hurled the remote across the room.
“Seriously… Is it on power-saving mode or something? Why won’t it turn on—”
Clicking his tongue, he tapped the back of his neck again. The interface appeared before him. He opened his contact list.
A few names remained—friends he had known before turning twenty and receiving his Omega designation. They were still minors, not yet assigned ranks, and thus still capable of communicating with him.
All other contacts had been erased.
Naturally.
He had never befriended Omegas, as his mother had warned him against it. Betas and Eves would never remain in the contact list of someone designated Omega. And communication with anyone outside Cape Town was strictly prohibited—doing so would result in revocation of citizenship.
“…Let’s see… Unathi… Abelyn… Unathi…”
He searched for his mother’s name.
His stepmother should have been somewhere in this city.
But her name did not appear.
Of course it wouldn’t. She belonged to the Eve class—one rank above him. How could an Omega possibly call upward?
As if possessed, Bharat manually entered her number.
The dial tone rang.
Then an automated voice responded:
“The number you have dialed belongs to a higher-class citizen and is restricted from Omega-level access—”
Something inside him snapped.
With a roar, he hurled the remote into the television screen, shattering it.
“Damn it! You… bastards!”
With nowhere else to vent his fury, he kicked the broken screen repeatedly. Shards flew, embedding into his feet, yet he could not stop. Eventually he collapsed beside the wreckage, curling up and clutching his legs to his chest.
Tears streamed freely down his face.
He made no attempt to stop them.
Then—
From the corridor, faintly, came the sound of knocking on his front door.
A voice followed.
“…Hey! Open up! I know you’re in there, so open the damn door! Charlie! You bastard!”
