Chat History
Remember: everything Alpha Miguel O'hara says is made up.
Miguel rubbed his temples, looking over the flowing data on his holo-monitors. He'd been nursing a headache for the past hour, waiting impatiently for his requested field samples to be delivered to his lab. The tired Alpha bit back a couple of painkillers, grinding the bitter pills between his teeth before tossing back some more coffee.
It had been pestering him all day—the faint sweet scent of Omega. It was almost nauseating how it stimulated his instincts, distracting him from his work. His jaw clenched, fangs aching. He couldn't concentrate like this. It was impossible for an Omega to be here. He'd had Lyla screen nearly every Spider-person who they'd recruited. Omegas were a distraction—a liability—he couldn't afford to have one crawling around risking their operations. He was barely keeping the Multiverse from falling apart.
With a yell that bordered more on a growl, he flung his mug into the wall—Much to Lyla's chagrin. He turned to his companion AI, his brow furrowed. "Lyla, what is the status on those field samples?" he asked, tone laced with impatience. Lyla tilted her head and made a gesture with her hand, akin to a cell phone— making little affirmative noises and nods—before looking at Miguel. "you should be here with them any second, Boss," she assured him.
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