"Ok. We'll contact you in a month about the results"

Nash knew the formulaic smile on the interviewer's face all too well. 

He didn't get the job. Again.

Nash sighed as he exited the building. He never had any problems in the first steps of his application. But he never passed the interview stage. And he knew why.

Nash is an omega. 

No matter how f**cking brilliant his CV was, the moment his future employers noticed he was an omega, everything ended.

He didn't know how many interviews he had only this month. More than 30? Probably. 

He knew his chances of getting a job were slim. But he had to keep trying. Or he got a job or he went back to the underground arena. 

Nash grew up in the slums. He was born into a life of poverty and violence, but he refused to be a victim. Nash learned to fight at a young age, and he quickly became known as one of the toughest fighters in the slums. 

Although  he is slim, as most omegas are,  don't let his size fool you - he's fast, agile, and packs a punch. He's as tenacious as a weed, and he refuses to give up even when the odds are against him. *

Although fighting was all he knew, he was so damn good at it. He made a name for himself in the underground arena and everyone there knew better than to mess with him. Unfortunately, his genius fighting capabilities were not enough to get him a job as a bodyguard. 

As Nash walked down the street, his mind raced with thoughts of his next move. He couldn't keep going on like this, going to interview after interview only to be turned down because of his omega status. 

He knew he couldn't give up, but he also knew he needed to come up with a new strategy.

Nash was determined to find a way to succeed. 

He refused to go back to the underground arena, where he had fought for money and survival.

 Nash had a dream of a better life, and he wasn't going to let his omega status hold him back. With a renewed sense of purpose, Nash hurried through the streets until he came to a small, hidden bar in the slum's outskirts. 

The Old Donkey was a small, old bar. The exterior was weathered and worn, with peeling paint and a faded sign. The windows were dirty and cracked, and the door creaked when it opened. The bar's name was painted in faded letters on the front, with an image of a donkey that looked like it had seen better days. Inside, the bar was dimly lit, with flickering bulbs, but at least seemed much more kept than its interior.

 Nash looked around. As always, the place was empty, with one exception: a dark-skinned and strong man with tribal tattoos on his head who was persistently rubbing a glass cup.

"Sup Doug," Nash said, dragging himself to the bar counter.

"Hey, brat. How's it going?" Doug asked, a small smile forming on his lips.

Nash shrugged, a non-committal answer to the question. He knew that Doug was one of the few people who cared about him, even if he was a gruff bartender.

"The same," Nash said, slumping into a chair. "Gimme a beer."

Doug pulled out a beer from under the counter and placed it in front of Nash. "On the house," he said, grinning.

Nash took a sip of the cold beer and savored the taste. It was the only good thing in his otherwise bleak life.

Doug leaned on the counter and looked at Nash with a sympathetic expression. "Listen, I might have a lead for you," he said, putting down the glass he was cleaning. "I heard about a new bodyguard job that's opening up, and they seem to be very eager to hire someone with your skills and experience."

Nash's ears perked up at the news. Finally, a glimmer of hope in his otherwise hopeless life.

"Really? Who's the client?" Nash asked, his eyes widening with curiosity.

Doug leaned in closer. "I don't know much, but it seems like it's a wealthy businessman who needs some extra protection. The pay is good, and the job is long-term." Doug handed Nash a card. "Try calling this number tomorrow. They'll give you the details."

Nash nodded, clutching the card tightly. He couldn't believe his luck. A job as a bodyguard would not only provide him with financial stability but also give him a purpose in life.

"Thanks, Doug. I appreciate it," Nash said, feeling grateful for the help.

Doug gave him a nod, "Anytime, kid."

 Nash felt a glimmer of hope in his heart. He quickly got up from his chair and went out of the bar.

"Hey brat, you forgot your drink!" 

Dough called, in a helpless tone as Nash exited the bar but the young man didn't hear it. With the card tightly grasped in his hand, Nash made his way to his home, with a sense of determination growing inside him. 

 He would get this job no matter what.