“Drop the dead bodies in the sea!” The metallic tang of blood filled my nose, a sickening counterpoint to the acrid chemical stench that clung to the hideout.  Shadows danced across my face as I spun around, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in my ears. 

Troy, ever the optimist, was already bellowing orders, his voice a lifeline in the chaotic aftermath. But all I could see was the crimson blooming on the floor, staining the dingy concrete.  Another life snuffed out, another body I had to dispose of.

"We've been outrun," Troy said, a grim smile twisting his lips.  His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, held a dark glint I hadn't seen before.  A flicker of fear, maybe.  Or was it something else?

"Always wanted a thrilling exit,"  I muttered, voice strained, sprinting towards the back door.

I followed him, the weight of dead men will always be a leaden weight in my heart.  The hideout was a testament to violence, every corner screamed of dark deeds.  Broken equipment, burnt papers, loaded ammos, the air thick with the cloying scent of fear.

"Rowan, look at this!"  Troy's voice, usually a welcome distraction, grated on my nerves.  His excitement over the cache of weapons felt misplaced, insensitive.

"Load them all up," I rasped, the words scraping raw against my throat.

Stepping outside, the salty tang of the ocean stung my nostrils.  Below us, the waves crashed against the rocks, a relentless rhythm that mocked the chaos in my head.  The air was filled with the staccato pop of gunfire.

"Let's see how long they last," I thought to myself, dodging bullets with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. The enemies were skilled, but I knew my own abilities well.

"Ahh, shit," I cursed as a bullet grazed my right arm, a searing pain that jolted me back to reality.  Troy was beside me in a flash, his face etched with concern.

"Drill head!  I told you to be careful!"  He cursed, sliding in behind me to cover my wound. I clicked my lips and pushed ahead, firing at the enemy with my left hand as if it were second nature.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed past the pain.  There was no time to dwell on it.  Not now.

"Crazy fuckers," I muttered, sending another body tumbling into the churning ocean.  My stomach lurched, but I forced it down.  No room for weakness, not yet.

My crew worked efficiently, disposing of the bodies, their grim silence and a heavy cloak around us.

"Troye," I said, my voice hoarse.  "Let's go to the apartment."

Confusion clouded his features.  "The apartment?  What about the mission?"

My mission.  The word hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the burden I carried.  A mission that had stolen my freedom, my future.

"The apartment is where I'll be staying undercover for the next year," I explained, the weight of the lie pressing down on me.

Troye's blue eyes narrowed.  "Are you serious about this, Rowan?  This isn't some run-of-the-mill mission.  It's a suicide run.  You either die by the mafia's hand or…" he trailed off, his voice choked with emotion.

"I was trained for this, Troy. Thirteen years of training can't go to waste. I know this is different, but that's why I'm getting close to Asher Bane. It lowers my chances of dying." I said, my voice flat.  "My family… They died for this mission.  I can't back out now."

It wasn't the whole truth.  But how could I explain the tangled web of obligation and guilt that held me captive?

"They trained you to be an agent, Rowan, not a goddamn martyr."  Troye's voice was laced with anger, a stark contrast to his usual easy-going nature.

"An agent who can take care of himself," I retorted, my voice hardening.

He let out a defeated sigh.  "Look, if I wasn't getting married in six months, I'd be right there beside you.  Hell, I might join you anyway."

A weak chuckle escaped my lips.  "You're already my backup, remember?"

The smile that followed was strained, a pale imitation of our usual camaraderie.  A shadow had fallen between us, a chasm created by the mission that loomed over me.

"After the wedding, of course," he added, a playful glint returning to his eyes.

"So, where's the target now?" I asked, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.

"Hitting the gym south of Nebula Fraskan Cafe on Hitchcock Street." Troy replied as I took the driver's seat of our SUV.

A snort escaped my lips.  “Hitchcock Street?  Sounds…apt”

"I bet he likes it," Troy replied with a smirk. "Sounds like a sketchy neighbourhood," Troye chuckled, a nervous edge to his voice.

"You mean he's into guys?" I laughed.

"How can you not know that, even as an omega?" My almond black eyes cast a shadow as I took a turn by the bridge, where my crew was still clearing bodies.

"So what? He’s an alpha. It won't stop me from completing this mission."

"He's a dominant alpha with pheromones that can make any omega weak. The only wish they’d have is to relieve themselves in front of him." I clicked my lips, rolling my eyes.

"And I'm the overly submissive omega who will knock him out instead of giving in to his pheromones," I replied. Troy smacked my head, snorting. The truth was, I didn't care.  All I could think about was the face in my dossier, the face of the alpha male I was supposed to seduce, manipulate, and ultimately,  destroy.

As of know the most known categories are:

Man: Identifies as male. Attracted to female 

Woman: Identifies as female. Attracted to Male

Gay: A man attracted to men.

Lesbian: A woman attracted to women.

Transgender: Identifies differently from the sex assigned at birth.

Bisexual: Attracted to more than one gender.

Queer: An umbrella term for non-conforming sexual orientations and gender identities.

These are Unique Dynamics:

Alpha: Dominant and protective leaders, often paired with nurturing Omegas. 

Beta: Balanced and adaptable, they bridge Alphas and Omegas, forming diverse relationships.

Omega: Sensitive and nurturing, often reliant on Alphas but possess inner strength.

Now let's reimagine these key points into this story. 

Rowan is a gay man who identifies as an omega. He is submissive, sensitive and yet he was taught to be tough due to his rough training. If we go back to Troy well he is a man who identifies as beta. He is not close to any of the terms of being dominance and submissive but if he wanted he could since he is an adaptive Beta.  Asher Bane is a gay man, who is a super dominant Alpha, one look from his cold eyes and a hint of his pheromones can make any omega stick to the floor losing all of their strength. He is rumoured to be so powerful that even if a person's not an omega he still had a deadly effect on them. 

"Do you really think you can do this?" he asked, turning serious.

"I was assigned this mission before I even understood the concept of omegas and alphas. Now, even if he is an alpha and I'm an omega, I won't back out." I sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and tension as I turned to Troy.

"Okay, okay, let's cut the mission crap. But you will come to my wedding, no excuses." I flashed my emerald green eyes, a sparkle that fizzled out quickly. "What? What was that look for?" Troy asked.

"Nothing, just thinking this might be our last time hanging out like this. After this, we'll only talk through transmitters and secured phone calls." Troy patted my shoulder. 

As we drove, the weight of the mission settled on my shoulders.  I was an omega, wired for submission, for nurturing.  How could I possibly hope to control an alpha like Asher Bane?

"Don't worry, man. I'll keep coming to see you," he said.

"Running errands?" I asked with a chuckle.

"Yeah, easier said than done." His eyes flinched as he suddenly shouted, "Watch out!" The screech of tires tore me from my thoughts.  I slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt.  A body lay sprawled across the hood, lifeless eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

"What the fuck?" I muttered, looking at the unconscious figure. Troye jumped out, gun ready.

“Man, I thought that base was our final ticket to trouble.” Troye moved out of the car instantly and loaded the gun which was on his waist.

I got out, my eyes scanning the well-dressed man lying on the trunk. His half-open eyes were cold and distant, his body muscular and imposing.

Like a terrified man clinging to his bed upon the arrival of an uninvited entity at his home, Troye with that similar feeling ripped off that emotion with a quick pull to the man's body. 

"No way! This can't be happening," Troye said, backing away. I approached the man, recognizing him instantly.

The injured victim, unconscious on our hood, was a man in his 30s, who had worn a subtly fitted business suit, with a heavy briefcase and a luxurious wallet. His half opened eyes were coldly diminishing the world under his bestowance. Well built, muscular fitted body, 6 feet 6 inch tall, subtle lips that could make the moon blush away in shyness. 

"Great way to start your mission, huh?" Troye's voice cut through the fog in my head, laced with bitter amusement. I didn't answer.  My throat constricted, a primal fear battling with a strange sense of…loss?  It was absurd.  He was the enemy.  He was supposed to be the monster.

It was him. Asher Bane.

The man I was supposed to infiltrate, the man whose life was now forfeit in my hands.  The mission objective, a horrifying reality staring back at me. Troye scrambled, his face a mask of horror.  "This can't be happening," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

I stumbled, my legs shaky.  This wasn't supposed to happen.  This wasn't how it was supposed to go.  He was supposed to be alive, a target, an enemy. He wasn't supposed to be handsome and breathtaking. His face, even in death, held a hint of arrogance, his sharp jawline softened by the subtle curve of his lips.  He was tall, broad-shouldered, a stark contrast to my own slender build.

But as I stared down at the lifeless form, a chilling truth settled in my gut.  This mission wasn't just about taking down Bane.  It was about taking down a part of myself, a part I wasn't sure I could live without.