A/N: So I just realized I have an account from forever ago and thought that I might post chapters of my new fic here as well as on A03 for, y'know, ~*MAXIMUM CRITIQUE-NESS*~ d(^u^)b! Hope you enjoy.

"From face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries."

― William Shakespeare, Coriolanus

Harry squirms in his office seat. There's an ever increasing barrage of emotions running rampant in the workplace today; People scrambling to get things done before the weekend. Consequently, it starts to wreak havoc on his carefully constructed defences.

Harry narrows his gaze at the computer screen in front of him in a final attempt to try and focus, but gives up after a few more seconds of futility pass. Defeated, Harry slumps in his rolling chair and feels his brow begin to bead with sweat. He tugs at his shirt collar and tie uselessly to try and relieve the stifling feeling. All the while, a thought weighs down on him:
His heat is coming on soon.
The thought is enough to jolt Harry into opening his side desk drawer and pull out the small medicinal bottle he keeps there for emergencies. Shaking it, he feels dread at how dangerously near empty it sounds. It couldn't have been that long ago he bought it, surely? Harry tries to think but a new wave of emotions derails his thoughts. They're more potent than the rest and Harry knows before even looking up who they belong to.

Two platinum blond heads strut out of an elevator on the far side followed by a steady stream of smug condescension, disdain, and pride. It's Draco Malfoy and his father Lucius (AKA: Harry's boss and the CEO of the company he works for). They are two of the most obnoxious Sentinels Harry has met, and love to remind everyone of exactly what they are. Harry inwardly groans and has no doubt that he isn't the only one doing so.
He actually catches sight of Ron, his best mate and co-worker, popping his flaming red head over the top of an office cubicle on the other side of the room. Coffee cup in hand, Ron rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and Harry grins in agreement. But then he turns very deliberately to his desk and tries to focus on his work. He can't afford to be here later than necessary tonight, and he blocks out the Alpha Sentinels' presence as they swan through the room, smirking or glaring in the appropriate places. (Always just enough to intimidate and cause envy where deemed necessary. Harry is sure they did this on purpose, just to put all of them in their place.) The two blonds finally round the corner and disappear into one of the meeting rooms and Harry releases a small sigh of relief. He has no idea what would happen if they ever found out that he's an Omega, and has no wish to know either. The thought causes a small shiver to run through him.

Harry turns back to the near-empty pill bottle in his hand.

He needs a refill, and quick. Before any Sentinels sniff him out, or worse — Harry comes across an Alpha that wants to mate. The fine hairs on his arm raise despite the unbearable warmth, and doesn't think when he opens the bottle to pour out the remaining pills in his palm. Harry counts them and there's enough to last him a few days at most. But he needs more.
But shit, if the stuff's expensive.
Especially if one wants to purchase any without the Ministry's knowledge. (Which it is, in Harry's case.) Since all and any Omegas are required by law to register themselves with the authorities. No doubt to be 'put to good use' and make it look like it's all completely justified and consensual. But Harry knows it's all bullshit. They would no doubt love the chance to poke and prod at him. The idea of being experimented on and kept locked up like some kind of lab rat makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"Hey, mate," Comes a familiar voice, and effectively startles Harry out of his thoughts. He jumps and looks up to see Ron.

"Christ, Ron."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," Ron says, and his brow furrows as his eyes catch onto the pills. "What are those for?"

Harry looks down at his hand and quickly closes a fist around the pills.

"Oh - Um, it's nothing. Just have a headache, 's all," Harry says and shoves the pill bottle back in his desk drawer.

Ron's mouth gives a twist but he doesn't question it.

"Yeah, Malfoy's been a hard-arse all week. He's even got Hermione going round the bloody bend," Ron says with a chuckle. Harry tries one back, but it sounds feeble even to his own ears. "But no worries. Some of the lads are going out for a pint later and asked if we wanted to join. Up for it?"

Harry waffles for a bit, torn between wanting to run straight back to his apartment and submerge himself in a tub of ice or get more meds while out with the others.

"Uhh, yeah," Harry replies, and he must sound strange because Ron's giving him a definite 'look'. He hastily adds an "Absolutely" to reassure his friend which seems to work.

"Wicked," Ron says and claps him on the back before he moves to leave. "See you later, then. And don't mind the boss man too much, yeah?" He throws over his shoulder.

Harry smiles back. "Will do."

Drinks is a nightmare. As soon as work got out, Harry began to feel the strain of having to keep up his shields and contain his Heat. If it weren't for the pills he took before, Harry's sure he would've been a panting, hormonal mess by now. But he needs to restock, and fast. So with a hasty goodbye to Ron and the others, Harry leaves for the nearest tube station.

Clutching onto the nearest railing, Harry watches as the train rattles through the dark tunnels in a blur. He tries to regulate his breathing and concentrates on keeping his shields in place.

God, but having bodies stacked in and around him was not helping. Harry squirms and feels like he's dying a very slow, painful, death. He can only pray that no Sentinels will sniff him out. But then again, Harry supposes it's rather wishful thinking on his part. Even a Guide could see he was sweating buckets.

The train jerks and comes to a sudden, screeching halt.

Harry's eyes widen in bewilderment until an announcement comes over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay and will be continuing on our journey shortly. Thank you for your patience." Click.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck. Harry wipes at his forehead and shifts, feeling an elbow dig into his back and someone's hip press against his leg. This was really not his day.

Then a warm hand covers his on the railing and Harry looks up, startled.

He freezes when he sees the heated gaze that locks on him.

Shit.

Harry's mind screams for him to run but his body does something different. He feels an unmistakable pull to get closer to the Sentinel and have him run his hands all over him. Harry's breaths are beginning to come short and fast and he has no doubt the Sentinel can sense his internal dilemma.

Harry needed to get out of there, and now.

The train jerks back into motion and Harry thinks he could cry for relief. But the Sentinel has pushed in closer to him now and is inhaling deeply. There is an unmistakable question in his eyes that wars with the lust as if saying, 'Are you really what I think you are?' and Harry wants to cry for help. He does manage to tear his eyes away, though, but catches the sight of another head turn in the sea of people on the train. The head seems to be uplifted as if smelling something strange in the air. It then swivels in Harry's direction who anxiously ducks his own head and prays to whatever God to help him escape this alive and unbonded. The heat feels like it's burning across his skin and eating him alive with want, and only increases his panic.

Harry looks up again when he hears a soft, rumbling sound coming from the Sentinel closest to him. He spots something through the crowd of people and must sense a threat. Harry hears an answering growl just near the doors on the other side and begins to truly panic. He really didn't want to be responsible for anyone going feral.

But of course luck was not on his side today.

The growls increase in ferocity and people are starting to notice. They look up from their tablets and newspapers. Even some who have earphones in seem to sense a shift in the atmosphere. It was the unmistakable static hum of Sentinels about to go feral.

Or maybe they sensed Harry. His body feels like a beacon and is certain pheromones must be pouring off him in waves.

Mercifully, the train begins to slow and the doors open with an airy hiss.

"Mind the gap" The automated voice chirps as Harry practically throws himself from the train and onto the platform. He finds himself almost pushing people aside in his haste to escape, but only manages to go ten steps when a hand latches onto his wrist like an iron shackle. A spike of anxiety shoots through Harry and the grip tightens, the Sentinel clearly senses his distress and feeling the urge to comfort and soothe the Omega. He tries to pull Harry towards him but is stopped by another, larger Sentinel. He must be the one that was on the train because he's suddenly ripping the other Sentinel's hand away from Harry's wrist with an impressive snarl. Harry doesn't even take the moment to see what happens next and shoots off into the crowd. He races up the stairs and comes close to hurdling over the ticket gates but manages to pull out his Oyster card just in time.

A minute later and Harry finally emerges onto the busy streets of Leicester Square, London. He doesn't stop or slow down for a second, though, as the need to get away still rages through him like fire. Harry thinks he must look ridiculous with his work suit still on and tie flapping about him as he runs pell-mell through the streets. But he finds he can't care when the urge to fuck the next Sentinel near him is overwhelming. As he races along, Harry vaguely notes the heads that begin to turn when he passes. They no doubt smell the scent of an Omega and Harry swears he can hear footsteps begin to follow him at some point. A few arms even reach out to grab at him on the sidewalk and it only makes him sprint harder. Words like a drum beat in his head — Danger, escape, mate, Heat.

No! Not mate. He has to keep the Heat at bay.

Suppress, suppress, suppress the urges.

Harry twists and turns a path through the throng of people on the sidewalks until he finally makes a sharp turn onto Newport court. He manages to find respite in a run-down looking Chinese shop where he tries to regain some composure. He pants heavily while praying that no one in there is a Sentinel or will report him. Harry quickly scans his surroundings and finds that the place is almost completely empty. There is one other person a few aisles down but they seem completely oblivious to his presence. They must be a Mute or a Guide. Either way, it is Harry's first shred of luck that they aren't a Sentinel. Or one of the authorities.

Harry ventures further into the store and nears the front when an old Chinese man comes hobbling out from behind the counter. He regards Harry with a shrewd look.

"Can help you?" The man says in broken english.

"Er, no. It's alright. Just looking," Harry says, still panting and out of breath. The man gives him another sceptical frown before he cocks his head to the side and sniffs.

Harry freezes, every muscle in his body coiling with adrenaline.

"Omega?" Comes the inevitable question.

Harry's eyes dart to the exit, ready to bolt at any moment despite the burning in his lungs from the race over here. The old man just shakes his head though, and doesn't wait for a response before gesturing with one arm for Harry to follow him. Harry remains still, not trusting the other yet and watches him disappear round the counter and into the back of the store.

Harry is suddenly aware that he's been left completely alone. If he needed to escape, this is his chance. He can make a break for it right now. But something in him tells him to stay and he tentatively makes his way up to the counter. The old man reappears a moment later and Harry sees that he has a bottle of pills with him. Harry's eyes immediately latch onto them and can tell what they are without even being told.

"Hormone suppressor," Comes the deliberate answer.

"How much?" Harry says, and it comes out in a breathless rush.

"Forty-five pound."

Harry is already fumbling out his wallet and shoving the money into wrinkled hands.

A few minutes later finds Harry walking out of the small shop, pills in his pocket and forty-five pounds lighter, but relieved. He tugs up his coat hood over his head and ducks out of the store and onto the street.

As soon as Harry turns the corner, however, he is set upon by a dozen uniformed officers.

Hands grab at him and the unmistakable shape of an injection is being pulled out. As soon as Harry sees the needle, adrenaline and fear pulse through him hard. He closes his eyes and in a desperate attempt, he feels out the walls of his empathy before frantically pushing it all OUT.

Rough hands that were previously clinging to him are forcibly ripped away and Harry opens his eyes to see himself surrounded by Sentinels in pain. Some lay on the ground and clutch their heads while others are doubled over and crying out for their Guides. People on the street appear confused and alarmed at the scene.

Not sparing a guilty thought for it, Harry takes this as his opportunity.

He just manages to bolt past the indisposed Sentinels when he's abruptly slammed into from behind and thrown to the ground. While there, Harry's not-so-gently cuffed and can feel something sharp jab into the side of his neck. He cries out but then there's the leathery feel of a collar being placed on him and that's when Harry really starts to panic. But the injection from before makes his vision swim and his limbs uncooperative. He barely manages to let out a last, almost animalistic and despairing yell before everything goes completely black.