In his younger, more formative years, being an alpha was something to be praised for. The strength and prowess that alphas possess made them worthy of protecting those around them — family, friends, mates, children. Breeding capabilities aside, alphas are stronger, larger. They're better. Omegas are weaker, creatures easily won over by a strong scent, parting their legs for the smallest showing of aptitude. That delicate nature made them easy prey. While only the most heinous of alphas would dare to defile those beneath them, the atrocities of the few created a societal shift. In the decades since Eddie's childhood, omegas have remained weak in stature, but strong in policy. They learned to advocate for themselves, subdue their so-called 'tyrants,' emasculate the masses and reduce them to caged animals.
It's only natural that Eddie would find a few persnickety omegas, women who find themselves above him in station, and take back his power. He introduced his victims to a simpler time, showed them the joys of submission — as is their biology. When those women failed to get with the program, he gutted them and moved on.
Don't scorn his actions, pray you. Anyone who spent a lifetime watching society transform around them, watched themselves lose more value with each passing day, would do the same. The natural order has been unheaved, and Edward Gluskin only sought to right it once more.
Which is what lands him in foster care, like a little boy again, like a child being removed from his family home for charges far beyond his understanding. Even now, Eddie can't grasp what occurred in his childhood. He can understand what's occurring now, though: punishment. Prototypical alpha-pattern aggression [nature], disorderly and disobedience [as if an alpha should ever obey an omega], reproductive coercion and sexual violence [again, one's proper nature], murder(s) in the second degree [hobby].
He's meant to be rehabilitated, brought onto Quentin's doorstep in cuffs, muzzled by protocol. It's stupid; he wouldn't think of sinking his teeth into one of these hideous Alpha Control Unit agents.
Paperwork is signed, hands are shaken, and Eddie's left alone with his new guardian. He gives it a week, tops, before he's free once more. Unable to speak, his narrow eyes and flat cheeks express how unimpressed with the one he's meant to bow before.
In the last couple weeks as Quentin has reviewed files, he's debated whether he's getting the assignment because he's just that good, or because someone is trying to get him out of the system. With the rap sheet he was given for Gluskin, getting him out could look like simple quitting or something decidedly more permanent. The county already subsidized getting his house outfitted for security; the window bars are ugly, but they let plenty of light in, and he can't say that the alarm system was unwelcome in the least. He's got the kind of wifi support he needs for emergencies, and he enjoys the smart house set up even when he doesn't have a resident alpha.
If he'd know that accepting those upgrades would lead to this, he might have been less amenable. Tapping Dad's lawyer to keep agency cameras out of every room in his house was more than a little humbling, and he's still horrified that they had to concede to the electric fence in order to get even that. Maybe it's all safer (and the chip is already installed in the alpha, it's perfectly humane, and it's required by town code, Mr. Smith), but it gets to the eternal struggle: how the fuck is he supposed to do anything meaningful if he can't make a show of trust?
This is just a cage, Quentin worries as he watches the ACU escort his latest ward inside. Not an opportunity, not an educational experience, and certainly not a home. He always feels this way on first arrival--but he's never felt it as strongly as he does watching Eddie's jaw work under the muzzle. Nearly twice his size, nearly twice his age, and many times over a more grievous offender than any of his previous alphas--even if those as well as it can possibly go, Quentin might take a hiatus after this one.
They can always see through a pandering attention while law enforcement is in the house, so Quentin doesn't give Eddie more than a nod in greeting and the expected visual onceover before ignoring him in favor of the ACU agents. They do the walk through, test the connectivity of his chip, sign the papers--all the motions of a customer having an appliance installed. When he closes the door, he takes a long moment of quiet to watch the trucks go, to assure that they are as alone as they can be in this wired house.
Then, turning from the window, he takes steps (as loose as he can manage, as casual as he can manufacture) towards Eddie, waves for him to come over. "So, I'm Quentin. You can call me Quentin, that's what I like. C'mere, let's take that thing off." The muzzle. He doesn't motion for Eddie to kneel--just to turn around so Quentin can reach up for the clasp. "What do you want me to call you?"
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@killsyourdarlings
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If he'd know that accepting those upgrades would lead to this, he might have been less amenable. Tapping Dad's lawyer to keep agency cameras out of every room in his house was more than a little humbling, and he's still horrified that they had to concede to the electric fence in order to get even that. Maybe it's all safer (and the chip is already installed in the alpha, it's perfectly humane, and it's required by town code, Mr. Smith), but it gets to the eternal struggle: how the fuck is he supposed to do anything meaningful if he can't make a show of trust?
This is just a cage, Quentin worries as he watches the ACU escort his latest ward inside. Not an opportunity, not an educational experience, and certainly not a home. He always feels this way on first arrival--but he's never felt it as strongly as he does watching Eddie's jaw work under the muzzle. Nearly twice his size, nearly twice his age, and many times over a more grievous offender than any of his previous alphas--even if those as well as it can possibly go, Quentin might take a hiatus after this one.
They can always see through a pandering attention while law enforcement is in the house, so Quentin doesn't give Eddie more than a nod in greeting and the expected visual onceover before ignoring him in favor of the ACU agents. They do the walk through, test the connectivity of his chip, sign the papers--all the motions of a customer having an appliance installed. When he closes the door, he takes a long moment of quiet to watch the trucks go, to assure that they are as alone as they can be in this wired house.
Then, turning from the window, he takes steps (as loose as he can manage, as casual as he can manufacture) towards Eddie, waves for him to come over. "So, I'm Quentin. You can call me Quentin, that's what I like. C'mere, let's take that thing off." The muzzle. He doesn't motion for Eddie to kneel--just to turn around so Quentin can reach up for the clasp. "What do you want me to call you?"