Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4232433.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Mad_Max_Series_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Immortan_Joe/Max_Rockatansky, Immortan_Joe/The_Wives, Furiosa/Max
      Rockatansky, Max_Rockatansky/others, Other_Pairings_to_be_determined_-
      Relationship, Rictus_Erectus/Max_Rockatansky
  Character:
      Max_Rockatansky, The_Organic_Mechanic, The_Wives_(Mad_Max), Immortan_Joe,
      War_Boys_-_Character, War_Pups, Max's_Ghosts, Rictus_Erectus
  Additional Tags:
      A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Omega_Verse, Rape, Rape_Aftermath,
      Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Disability, Piercings, Genital
      Piercing, Medical_Torture, non-con_everything, Child_Abuse, Child_Death,
      Polyamory, everything_is_horrible, Obsession, Torture, Mental
      Instability, Drugged_Sex, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use, Rape_By_Proxy, Altered
      Mental_States, Mpreg, Breeding, Bondage, Chains, Exactly_What_It_Says_on
      the_Tin, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat, This_fic_goes_dark, before_it_gets
      better, and_it_is_only_a_certain_value_of_better, Dehumanization, Use_of
      Children_as_Shields, Use_of_Children_to_torture, world_building, Hurt/
      Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Comfort_delayed, Body_Horror, High
      Octane_Nightmare_Fuel, Nightmare_Fuel, Cissexism, Sexism, Misogyny,
      biological_essentialism, This_is_so_far_from_okay_it_doesn't_have_line_of
      sight_to_okay, Author_wallows_in_the_muck, Everything_from_chapter_1-
      chapter_13_is_trauma_and_horror
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-29 Updated: 2015-07-31 Chapters: 6/? Words: 7494
****** A Mad Dog's Bite ******
by MarvelouslyMadMM, TheLittleLiesmith
Summary
     Based on a Kinkmeme prompt:
     I've seen a few posts with Max as an omega, but I don't think I saw
     one where the Citadel realizes this and Joe takes Max as a breeder,
     instead of letting him be used as a blood bag.
     I like the idea of Furiosa coming back after a mission or something,
     ready to talk to the wives about their escape plans, only to realize
     that Joe has taken a 'new wife.' She's wary of taking him with them
     at first, but the wives are fiercely protective of their new
     addition--even though he is still practically feral, not yet capable
     of much speech, and dangerous enough to be in cuffs and the metal
     muzzle.
     -------
     In this fic, Max will break, be hollowed out and made into a thing, a
     thing that must find itself, must find it's humanity again, it's
     life, on the Fury Road.
     I can not warn enough for Chapters 3-8. HEED THE WARNINGS. Please.
     If you are sensitive to extreme rape/dehumanization, read the
     prologue and chapter 1, then wait till chapter 13 (or so) for the
     more Movie based chapters, and movie canon levels of violence and
     some well tagged trigger lists- till then, assume everything is a
     dead dove, eat it only if you like dead doves.
***** Teaser *****
Before the world burned, I was a police officer. The first batch of fresh new
blood to change the system for the better.
 
First in my class, one of the elite few Omegas allowed to enter the forces
without special medical exemptions or post bonding. Trained to use the greater
agility and strength inherent in my body chemistry to subdue without killing.
 
My training and other chances at true equality were the result of generations
of suffragettes. Rallies both peaceful and riotous. I was the product of
centuries of Omegan Rights struggles.
 
My life was going to be different, I was raised knowing that I was worth more
than just breeding stock. I was more than just a long lived plentiful source of
healthy children, no matter my biology.
 
Then the world died.
 
And with it, that fragile lie of civilization was ripped away far worse than it
had ever been before. At least not to my knowledge from anything I had read in
any history books taught to us in public schools.
 
Sure, we clung to the ideal for a while, but the world showed us, showed me,
what being an omega means now.
 
It means fighting. It means running. It means killing before you can be
identified.
 
It means never giving them the option to take you alive.
***** Chapter 1 - Is it Hope or Desperation? Either way it's a mistake. *****
Chapter Summary
     Max gets caught- And we start to see that in this Omega Verse, Omegas
     are by far the strongest and baddest fuckers in the gene pool. It's
     part of why it took so very long for them to get rights.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
  The band of pale warriors, a large group of Betas, were beginning to catch
up. With the cool down time for the engine far from complete, he hoped they
would not realize his actual status if they caught him. His goal if caught was
to blend in as a Beta piece of meat just long enough to overpower, surprise.
Then escape.
  He floored it past the canyon entrance all the while chewing the last wiggly
bits of lizard he had snagged just before the sounds of pursuit had registered.
He half heartedly hoped to draw the attention of the raiders he had heard were
in the canyon, wanting them to split the attention of the warriors that drew
closer behind him. It was a long shot, but it was still a better shot at
survival than taking on his pursuit or trying to outrun them all on a hot and
nearly dry engine.
  The pale warriors, Pale Three as they’d been named around that campfire weeks
ago, one of the last remnants of a military power whom had helped fuck over the
entire planet. Risky to ever come close to such a group, as they had managed to
take over a few munitions plants and a refinery. So stupid to risk it.
  Yet, the allure of the rumored water trade was far too tempting. The trade
route was said to be between something called the Citadel and an outlying town
of Mineshallow, a great enough distance between points that he might luck out.
The last he had heard of another place fresh with uncycled water, was over a
year ago in the remnants of Surabaya. The appeal of this great opportunity was
much too hard to resist, his own recycled having run dangerously low, tasting
more of minerals and musk than anything close to even old world brackish water.
  Now, he was paying for his decision. Desperation had clouded his mind, it is
deadly to have hope. He should have known better.
  Max snarled and bashed his hand on the steering wheel, there were no
distractions rising out of the canyon, and he is out of ammunition. The bullet
trade was a lesser hope, one he had less of a need for, but wouldn’t turn down
if he’d had a chance to grab some.
  Up ahead he spotted another large group of pale faces headed his way. Armed
with nets, and spike strips being swung above and beside them like flags. His
thirst for this rumored water was waning, a feeling of being duped weighed down
upon him. He sped on, searching for any means of escape and seeing only once
chance.
  He went for it, even knowing the chance of it being a trap was high. He just
hoped it would kill him quick  if it was.
  The loud hiss and thick film of a paralytic spray hosing him down through his
window proved his instincts both right and wrong. He was coated instantly,
barely able to keep from swallowing it directly as it splashed over him.
  For a beta, it would have left a pliant and comatose body for a few hours.
Completely helpless. An Alpha would instead be groggy and weakened like a drunk
Beta.
  For him, it meant when the first pale assholes arrived to pull him out, he
would only manage to kill 6 and injure half a dozen more before they managed to
fully pry him out of his car.
  They were betas, always known for retaliating on a mild frenzy to loss of
platoon mates. That was exactly what Max was expecting them to do, but they
didn’t.
  A very scarred and twisted looking beta stood atop the hood of the largest
truck, gazing down at Max and the circle of dead bodies and injured warriors
with something like orgasmic awe on his face. The beta narrowed his eyes and
shouted to the rest.
 “NO DAMAGE. It is as The Immortan said!” A smile spread across his face. “On a
lovely day we will find a True Warrior Wife, as only a Blessed Wife can move so
after a direct spray-down! Such a BOUNTY!” He screamed out to the rest, a
collective cheer rang out in reply, the bodies of the fallen ignored as all
eyes tracked Max with a fierce hunger. “We may ride eternal with this find! For
the glory of bringing such a wife to The Immortan!”
  These words were met with a deafening chorus of cheers, every man seeming to
respond at once though this time with words, they all were shouting in a jumble
of boasts and chants of V8, all overlapping, just as their limbs and bodies
were now overlapping above Max. The men hanging on each other, were crowded so
tightly around him it felt as if he was suffocating. The pale men now
completely heedless of his blows and the damage his jagged nails, trusty knife
and sharp teeth were inflicting, dying men shouting for witnesses and choruses
of “Chrome!” being bellowed into Max’s ears.
  He felt a sharp pinch to the thigh, a numb feeling spreading from his leg and
through his body. Fighting every inch of the way, he at least took out the
miserable bastard that had stuck him with the intravenous paralytic. He finally
slumped, cradled in dozens of strong arms and hefted into the air with what
felt like a wave of ecstatic noise buoying him.
  Max was quickly chained shoulder to foot in loops of sturdy greased chain,
the pale men reverently caressing Max’s exposed skin as he was lifted into the
largest truck. He was riding shotgun, right next to the scarred pale man with
the hideous grin. As the drive went on he began regaining feeling, testing his
control and the tightness of the chains with small movements to gage his range,
making sure he had enough room to attack.
 Waiting till a patch of rough road, Max timed the bounce of the truck to aid
his motion. Jack-knifing up and over the clutch in one smooth motion he
managing to get in a good bite clean right through the jugular and larynx. The
dying leader’s flailing turning the car off the road and leaving the driver
gasping, speaking vague last words with no power or co-ordination behind them.
  The large truck barreled through the dusty terrain, losing control rapidly.
Bouncing and sharply turning till it smashed right into a low lying rock just a
hundred feet from the road. The angle of the crash sent the truck rolling,
flipping three times till it came to a rest on it’s side.
   Max was pinned by the body of the driver, the partially crushed form of one
of the crew half cushioning him from the other side, where they had been trying
to enter the cabin to prevent the crash. The metal was groaning and Max could
smell the unique sharp scent of gas leaking into the cabin. In Max’s mildly
concussed mind- wriggling, struggling to make a spark seemed perfectly valid as
an option. A messy death, but a death better than a forced mating. He was so
focused on this idea, this goal, that he didn’t register the scrabbling sounds
of the other vehicles circling or the warriors clambering up and into the cabin
with him till it was too late- a sharp blow and a strong hand pressing on his
throat had him passing out between one breath, and the long coming next.
Chapter End Notes
     Edits can still be done- shout if you see something that needs fixed.
     ;)
***** Chapter 2 - It's hard to be a War Boy, in an Omega against the world
scenario *****
Chapter Summary
     WARNING: Mentioned castration (not actually done) and the beginning
     of the end of the happy fun portion of the first 10 chapters.
 Max awoke to the crisp cool air, a metallic taste upon his lips that zinged.
 His eyes snapped wide open, shuddering and attempting to shake off the heavy
weight of the thick chains that attached themselves to the equally heavy metal
muzzle.
 His mind took over for just a few small seconds, flashbacks of a moment much
better than any he had experienced in decades. Atlanta, just a year after the
last battles of the war had spread, taking the world's water with it. His
daughter looking down on him and laughing, her sweet laugh as she woke him from
a nap. Her image was lovely and glowing, but it was not long before the memory
took a darker turn. Blood, dripping from her body as he remembered the final,
and fatal wound inflicted upon her, not more a year after that first memory.
 Frozen, not a single sound or movement came from him as he watched her skin
pale, bruise, and split open where she was wounded during her final hours. The
image of her shook with rage, and fear. Her voice cracked from the pain as she
begged, violently.
 “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why did you leave me to suffer like this!” her
voice loudened. “You knew what history had done to the rival alphas! How could
you have been so selfish!” Her face got closer to his. The blood dripped from
her wounds and her body seemed to look more and more dead as she spoke. “If you
had ever loved me, you would have spared me the pain of this life!” She
shuddered like from phantom fists striking her “Why didn’t you save me?” Her
voice seemed to be but a small whisper with her last words, echoing in his
mind, never letting him forget his failure. Her body was so close to his that
he could feel the cold of her body and her breath upon him. Tears welled in her
eyes, but behind those tears he could see the disgust.
“You are obsessed, this clean death ideation that you have! You wish it, but
you know you don’t deserve it!” her spittle was red, just as the blood that
flowed down her cheeks and mixed with her tears.”We never got that. So why
should YOU Dadi!?”
 Max couldn’t stop the screams that tore themselves from his throat. He ripped
at the chains mindlessly in a violent need to escape, denying what his oldest
ghosts were saying. His most tortured ghosts.
 The room Max resided in was painted wall to wall in thick gore, the stench
horrific. Max was naked, clothed only in the chains that wrapped his arms, legs
and a muzzle. The chains creaked and warped as he thrashed about, soon he was
being surrounded by bodies attached to hands, struggling to hold him down as a
loud abrasive voice laughed, shouting over the banging of Max’s chains as he
struggled.
 "Whoah there! Definitely bred before- and feisty! look ‘it that, omegan child
protecting rage! He's lost some pups, prolly long after birth- get him good an
heavy, sure as chroming, he'll do anything to keep em safe, I'd wager." Max
managed to get the chain on his right arm free from the mooring and was clawing
at the betas pinning him down. Snarling, screaming as he bucked about to try
and break free, chains squealing as they strained near to breaking, just as
betas grunted and strained against every handhold they could grab to fight him
back down.
 Off to the side of Max, a smaller voice spoke in a hushed tone, but the first,
much louder voice responded. "Well, we can get him a bit more docile if we cut
his kit off, it‘d lower his fight sharply at the cost of litter size, without
the regulatory hormones he’d never have more’n one or two at a time."
 The quieter voice spoke louder this time, an almost reprimanding tone that cut
through the air. "Absolutely not, his fire is what makes him perfect." Max
snarled louder at this, managing to break one chain and grab a beta. He wasted
no time, setting to using it’s corpse to beat on the other Betas at the still
shackled side of his body.
 Abrasive voice gave a hearty chuckle, a wet rattle of phlegm in the throat and
lungs making a hideous racket. Even over the grunts of the pale boys
reinforcing and extending the chain networks despite Max’s thrashing and the
damage he was still managing to inflict one handed. Finally a bunch of the
stronger men began piling onto Max’s freed arm to pry their now dead companion
from his grip and strong yet nimble hands working frantically at reconnecting
the chain to that arm while others set to dragging out their injured to make
room for new hands.
 "Then we can do some piercings, deep nerve piercings, use the omegan pressure
points to loop the chains, so if he tugs too much it cuts sensation to that
limb, it looks like some bogan did a real bodgy job at it before, for his hip
point, shoddy work’s left his leg partially paralyzed as a result. Some dill
who caught him before probably killed a presenting alpha pup or something in
front of him, thinking the stories of that workin to prevent alpha pups in the
future was true. Actually, from the way he's reacted to Rictus, I'd say it's
almost certain that somethin like that happened."
 Some more quiet conversation too muffled by Max and the warriors grunts, then
someone is spraying Knocker Juice right in his face- military grade tactical
knockout spray for taking out entire platoons of raging Alphas via misting
them, so it also means it's actually strong enough to also take out an Omega in
the same state when in it’s sprayed directly down his throat.
 Max retains one thought throughout being dragged down into unconsciousness.
 Despite what the rumors said, he's yet to smell a single fully presented or
mature Alpha here.

 Not one. Thank Loki.
***** Chapter 3: Loki's Punishment is a cruel coat to wear. *****
Chapter Summary
     I sound like a broken record- but seriously, if children in seriously
     fucked up situations at all triggers you- TURN BACK.
     Max is given a bath, remembers his bond mates... and is fitted into a
     fucked up leather harness that will bind and constrict into his skin
     over time. Hinted cultural and social slavery via this very harness.
     Oh and children do 99% of the work under the direction of the Organic
     Mechanic, for that extra "Oh god I am gonna be sick" flavor.
Chapter Notes
     DANGER! Turn back, before it's too late!
     In this chapter- meta world building is hinted at.
     Also, children are harmed, and witness/participate in the
     preparations for Max's torture while being used as human shields.
     IT ONLY GETS WORSE FOLKS.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The delirium that chases Max through the next few hours is almost overwhelming
in it's fuzzing effects. It is particularly insidious because a version of it
has chased him, ridden with him, for years. He is so conditioned to
experiencing some form of delirium that his hindbrain doesn't quite process
that it is artificially induced this time.
Too little water, too little sleep, too little food, too much stress, too much
grief, no packmates, no touch or pheromones to regulate his own. Only stubborn
biology has kept him alive, his own adaptable omegan genes conspiring with fate
to keep him alive.
Now is the reward for his biology’s stubborn conviction that he will survive
long enough to thrive. There is the slick, soothing feel of sweet and cool
liquid being poured down his throat. He feels the slight sting on the back of
his hand and then the pressure of an IV line, probably with more fluids. His
face is free of familiar weight. The lack of itching combined with the cool
moist air blowing over the sun starved skin means he is now completely freed of
his beard. However, he is drifting in so much cotton wool that he can barely
consciously process the hands washing him so gently let alone the finer
details. His mind slipping completely free of his body, and the present, the
longer those hands and that gentle, so long denied, physical contact keeps
going.
Strong hands, small hands, so many hands, holding him as sponges, cloths,
towels, so many things are used to scrub him, lather him, and repeat the
process time and again. Decades of grime being stripped away one gentle pass at
a time.
His nails are trimmed short, but not to the quick. Not nearly removed as they
were last time he was caught. His feet, the now faint scars there scrubbed
clean but not sliced open, it is almost like being pampered.
Almost like, his first pack. The first shared bath. They were in love. Both
Haley and Dave were on suppressants, just like Max. The light haze of heat
licking his belly as his alpha and beta both pampered him. What they were doing
was a bit taboo for an unwed, undeclared pack, but there was a reason such
sensuous tending and touches were part of all omega lore and so many novels.
The sensual touches, the nature of what they were imitating stirred them all,
connecting them deeper than any of a dozen scenes they had done before.
Triggering Max’s receptors and those lovely unique omegan genes for purposes
older than time, purposes they had no plans of fulfilling but every plan of
enjoying the attempts to fulfil.
The stroking of gentle warm hands, the scrape of callouses through soapy water,
the low hum returned from three throats instead of just his own, all feeding
rapidly into the low curl of warmth in his belly.
The sweet smell of honey, oh he had forgotten it. Honey, his arousal scent, it
even tasted of honey on Dave's fingers as Haley slowly took over fingering and
cleaning inside and out so nimble Dave could slowly shave him. Cleaning Max
inside and out so he came to them fresh and clean of all but them.
A ritual that scared, terrified, but aroused him then, so much that they all
had agreed to do it the old ways. The whispers of his mates, the whimpers
pulled from his throat as he moved with their guiding touches. Safe. So safe.
No danger of his control being taken, for all that he was loaning it to them.
Oh, he was so safe and warm, the soft luxury of a ritual bathing like this, of
a whole week to themselves, they had just graduated the Academy. Max trusted
that Dave's whispers that Haley was going to knot him full of pups was just
playing. Something risky if their suppressants failed(Nesting, never allowed
for active duty Omegas), but something primal and hot, yet ultimately safe
because they would never violate his wishes, his chance to be on the force.
He could feel the playfulness in the low level mental connections that were
slowly stirring to life, he knew in his bones that they would keep him safe,
even from his own biology...
Except, except, that there were far more than two sets of hands- dozens were
touching him.
He whimpered, fear creeping into his body, trying to coil muscles and fight the
drugs and the hormones and the- the minds, the fervor, the warped feel of the
minds he touched. Sickness, mental instability.
Seeking death, awe, jealousy mixed with a lust for attention, Max’s hindbrain
feared being, forced, in his current state, and pursued the alien emotions,
slowly realizing it was- jealousy of the attention he had, not a desire to
impregnate him. Youthful minds, minds that did not yet fully understand sex. It
made Max relax, his mind unable to process through the gentle touches and
massaging, his face and neck bare, his hair shorn short and clean- inches long
instead of bald, not like the hair all over his body otherwise. He felt the
last swipes of razor over his calves.
All over he felt so alive, so cared for, like his bones were jelly and his
belly filled with the passion of desire. Everything was good.
Sensuous. Like he was wearing silk, prepared for greater purpose. Finally
bonding his mates- except they had bonded already, hadn't they?
He felt alive and wanting in a way he hadn't been since his mates were still
alive.
Wait, that's right. They're dead. He- he needs to think. Can't think. Should be
able to think. His biceps curl tighter under the hands and warm soapy water
sloshes.
"Careful, boys, he's starting to come to. Get the chains on him quickly, now."
Such an abrasive voice, his mind was coming out of it’s fuge- fear and rage
flushing out the hormones, the drugs, the biology that was telling him to
submit and stay lax.
Abrasive was in charge, he needs to die first.
Max felt the fuzzing cotton coating his mind begin to finally burn away at that
thought.
"Yes Organic Mechanic!" comes a chorus of boys, the very oldest of whom were on
the cusp of entering or having just entered puberty, betas all, and all of them
smelling of Max's slick, coated in his scent and no others, all of them
innocent and sweet of scent- his body and hindbrain both rebel violently at the
thought of killing them. It allows the signals from his brain to his arms and
legs to be delayed enough, to be slowed and jerky enough, that they manage to
wrap the heavy chains around his biceps, hips, calves.
Max snarls while trying to buck, wants to bite, even tries to, but they've put
milk teethed- baby fat covered little boys to help wash his hair. It's hideous
to even think of killing them, abominable to him, he can smell the baby-child
scent has barely left them. They can't be older than his youngest at the time
of the first terrible raid. His eyes are panicked, flared wide as he keens,
head whipping back and forth as he looks desperately for a way to escape, to
get free, finally overriding his instincts to lash out, to try biting, tearing
his way free as he feels the heavy intestine strips of a flesh forged brace and
harness being buckled onto his neck and shoulders.
His nightmares as a child featured such barbaric things. Even as an adult he
would wake screaming some nights, the ghosts of a harness resting tauntingly on
his skin. He had always blamed a passage he had read in a book. A book of
accounts from stories of ancient barbarians, stories of forced matings, of
entire clans taming a single enemy omega to bring in new blood. Of dozens and
dozens of children birthed over decades, while wearing such a yoke.
Of the legends and rituals outlawed in all civilized countries, of a grim
reminder of what once was, and what could be again without constant vigilance.
He scores deep wounds twice on those buckling, stitching, him in. It isn't
enough, and the pained yelps and taste of child's blood turns his stomach,
makes his keening grow into ragged pained sounds that are more guttural screams
caught half in the chest than anything a beta throat could manage and no sane
alpha could stand to hear for long.
His wide eyes dart between the two injured boys being dragged back, no more
than six years old if they're a day, and his keens go sharp and high again as
he looks at his assailants. Watches with true horror as the small chubby hands
around his face, small boys with wide blue and green innocent eyes, so afraid
but trying to be brave as they force the braided bit into Max's mouth,
stitching the webbed flesh harness as they go, yelping in pain and fear as he
thrashes and tries to break free.
Suddenly he freezes, because it isn't pale skin before him. It's his babies.
His youngest, the twins. Danny and Frankie. They're looking at him, and crying
as they ask "Why are you hurting us so dadi? Why are you letting the bad bad
men hurt us? Why aren’t you stopping it like Da did?" as their rich dark skin
gets paler and ashier. His recent bite wounds to the two pale boys overlaying
the knife wounds that had ended the two omega boys lives as a mercy. Dave
having done it with his last bit of energy before he too bled out.
Max's keening screams are tearing at his throat now, eyes blown with pure panic
as his entire body trembles, tears streaming unchecked as the sweet honey scent
is overlaid with the potent rancid honeydew grief, ozone tang of rage, and that
unique scent of omegan mother in distress.
The Organic Mechanic moves closer, chuckling again, motioning the boys to stay
by Max's head as he checks the buckles and tightens the braided harnesses of
damp intestine where it has yet to be stitched closed yet. Tugs the ropes that
crisscross Max's torso and arms. Buckling the heavily padded gauntlets over
Max's forearms and wrists, the long heavy duty chains attached to them weighing
almost as much as any one of the boys that are helping to push them into place.
Max tries his best, strains himself, nearly shakes a leg free, managing to
ignore the children's yelps, the older boys and teens have moved to the far
walls. It isn't, it isn't RIGHT. This is- he keeps fighting to keep fighting
back but it is- nearly impossible. Every instinct is screaming at him to not
hurt the pups.
His teeth are bared and he snarls at the dark haired monster of a beta, the
Organic Mechanic, that sacrifices milk toothed children to keep Max from
fighting at full capacity.
He feels the webbing, the large long calf sleeves that are fitted on, the
chains attached there. The heavy belt of chain around his waist, no matter his
bucking, the Organic Mechanic has climbed onto him, just sitting on his back.
Just making sure Max’s bindings are secure, attaching the chains to either side
and then using a few more with a creaking pulley system and hoist to pull Max's
hips up, higher and higher out of the water. It’s so tight Max is unable to
even begin to thrash anything except his head.
"Aren't you just the most broken little mother. You'd gladly paralyze yourself
for the chance to kill me, I'm thinking- so we're not gonna leave you that
option, now is we." The monster slides off Max's back and leers at his face.
Smiling with foul teeth and gleaming eyes.
Max feels like he will be torn in two, the chain at his waist and the chest
ropes holding him up, as the gauntlets on his calves and forearms are chained
tightly down.
Chapter End Notes
     Next up, discussions, and prepping for the semi-graphic torture that
     is the piercings.
     If you don't want to kill the Organic Mechanic by chapter 5, I am
     doing it wrong.
***** Chapter 4: Talking as a form of Torture *****
Chapter Summary
     The Organic Mechanic is a chatty bastard.
     Max is not religious, but he's having a religious experience. By
     religious experience we mean praying because he's about to go insane
     with fear and can't physically fight his way free- and his mental
     conditioning is failing him completely here.
Chapter Notes
     Apologies for the delay, Summer School is rough, and my beta is quite
     busy right now.
     Only MMMM for the foreseeable future, all mistakes are mine, and the
     lack of polish is also me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The Mechanic slaps at Max's skin, a low chortle of glee filling the air as the
disgusting monster motions the young boys to bring the piercing and branding
tools closer, barking a quick “Strain!” which must be an order to drain the
tub.
The boys do their tasks without much flinching. Each ignoring the trussed up
and noisy, but for now harmless, Max in favor of the far more dangerous Organic
Mechanic. Max has stopped thrashing his head in favor of watching the
interactions with narrowed eyes.
There is fear in the young boys, but also a healthy dose of awe for the older
man. Max doesn't stop the sneer that curls his lips, ignoring the pulling
sensation of his cheeks rubbing against the straps as he does so.
He is in pain, the chain having been pulled far higher, tighter to the ceiling
and making his chest only partially supported- but now that the boys are
scurrying, and further fighting is, impossible for the moment, Max can ignore
the pain. Needs to ignore the pain, so he can learn. If he can learn he can
plan. If he can plan, he can escape.
"You are a real prize, omega. Your breed have always been rare, but after the
the burning, no fully presented Omega has been found in five days ride, nor
rumors of one returned by any of our raiding groups." The man says as he trails
his fingers up and down Max's quivering thighs in a mocking caress.
Max closes his eyes and gives into the instinctive urge to snarl, forcing his
muscles to firmness and stilling the quiver through sheer will. The Mechanic
grunts a surprised "huh" before smacking Max on the ass soundly. Max would have
started and jerked, except he couldn't even rock in this current trussed up
position.
The hands are back, trailing up Max's side, petting and tickling and slapping
randomly as the Organic Mechanic moves towards Max's head. "Very good, very
nice. Such control, if you were beta, I'd think you were born long after the
event. But you're an omega, and one with obvious control and military grade
combat training. The only time such a luxury existed was before the war
escalated. My predecessor, my teacher, he had studied bonded packs in the
military, and spoke fondly of omegan brood mothers and the Alphas bonded to
them, how they were a force of nature in olden times."
Max’s milk ducts were traced, firm pressure mapping them from near his arms
across his pectorals in sweeping motions, studied and processed even as the
medic kept talking. “The glue that holds a company together. The tribe’s wealth
in flesh form, a prize worth dying for. Keeper of genetic history.”
Nimble fingers tweaked Max's nipples, a sound of approval from the warped
doctor rewarded Max's involuntary pebbling and lengthening of his nipples into
little mouthfuls of rippled rosy flesh. “So perfect for feeding a child” was
whispered almost reverently as the nipples were flicked again and again.
"Oh, just look at you. A pinnacle of breeding stock. I have to say, a part of
me worried that the heat inducers wouldn't be as potent after so long- but the
military has always had a fondness for contingency plans, and my teacher, oh he
was more than a bit obsessed with Omegas. I think you'll hate every second of
the next few hours...but you'll come to enjoy it after a few years." More
annoying and abrasive talking, more tweaks, pinching and slapping various lymph
and hormone nodes, definitely medically trained, no touch or slap missed
hitting a key zone to Max’s overall hormone system.
Max breathed in through his nose and wished he hadn't. Definitely beta, and
definitely sadistic. The man was hard, and he understood Max's biology so well
that even in pain and half subsumed in a rage, Max was also hard and dripping
from inside and out. Even beyond what a chemically induced heat could explain,
this man was revving his hormones higher and higher.
Max wished the children weren't watching. Wished that, even if he couldn't
break free, that it was just the sadist watching this. The pre-teens and teens,
a few were hard, reacting to the slick’s pheromones or the sight of such
touching, or just the whims of their own budding cycles.
But no matter what, Max could feel all those gazes, couldn't shake the
knowledge that, so many were seeing him so completely helpless. So many were
getting hard, reacting to him. He knew it was just biology, but for all he told
himself that, a small voice in the back of his head whispered "Slut. Stop
getting hard for this."
A quick slap on Max's neck, right over the large Kilban Gland, or Bonding
Gland, snapped Max out of his mind and fully into his body, every single muscle
coiling and springing at once as his entire body flooded with a need to move,
to move now, right now, his heart thundering as he clenched every muscle, back
trying to arch and legs to curl closer despite the padded steel manacles being
chained with no slack. His joints creaked loudly, even as his teeth groaned
ominously.
It was a struggle, yet somehow Max avoided making more than a cut off whine. He
quickly regained as much control of himself as was possible with the hormone
cocktail, but Max's eyes when he opened them were blown wide with arousal
instead of rage. When Max became aware of what he was seeing, he noticed that
the messed up medic was bent to look straight into Max's eyes, less than a
single hand’s breadth away from his own eyes..
Max tried to jerk forward, to headbutt him even if he couldn't bite him, but
fell just an inch short, snarling loudly when the man didn't even flinch. The
smile was even more hideous this close up, but Max refused to recoil, to show
more submission than his body was already being forced to give.
"Oh, yes, that was just perfect. I was right. You are bindable. You have been
unbound long enough that your system and hormones are ready to form a new
packbond. All we need is the right Alpha pheromone triggers, and you will be,
oh you will be such a treat!"
Max snarls to keep from whimpering, glares to keep from recoiling, and gnaws at
his bit to keep from crying.
This is his worst nightmare- and there is nothing he can do about it right now.
He is going to be bred. He is going to be marked, possibly for life this time.
He could lie to himself and say that he can fight it. He can’t stop the binding
if this madman really knows what he is doing. Is willing to, become such a
monster.
He is going to be forcibly bound, if they have access to the hormones of a
fully presenting Alpha, even if they don’t he might still bind, if what this
madman is saying is true. He will loose every tie to his old pack. Every broken
cord, every echo of his children, of his mates, their comfort their loss,
everything but his memories. Let it not be true. Oh Loki, please.
He has not prayed since his escape from the Black Skull raiders thirty years
ago, but he's praying to  Loki and the Mother of Many Mothers now, let the
rumors that the Leader of the Citadel is an Alpha be a lie. Let them all be
betas or half neuter semi presented alphas. Let this medic, this Organic
Mechanic be a madman who knows just enough to throttle him up.
Please don't let them force a true bond.
His Haley's voice, mocking in a way she never was in life answered his prayer.
"Why, it's not like you've got anything but your guilt to lose. Isn't that
right, babymaker?" Max flinched finally, eyes slamming shut, even as the
hideous laughter of his ghosts mingled with that of the man currently torturing
him with words far crueler than the medical tools laid out for future use on
him.
He could take physical pain.
But this- not this.
Please.
Chapter End Notes
     Might do the next chapter early, and take the next week off- if
     anyone objects, or is all for throwing out the attempt at a schedule
     altogether- let me know in a comment.
***** Chapter 5 - Make a Bonded Omega out of you *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter slides into the horrible, and doesn't really come out.
     Warning- Max gets piercings to circumvent all voluntary cognitive
     responses- basically he gets a metal nervous system shortcut
     installed, so anyone (Joe) can get him hot and all juiced up in a few
     moments, without any need for Max's brain to help it along.
     Yeah, this is rape on a different and strange level. If rape and a
     complete loss of bodily autonomy sounds triggering, skip to chapter
     13, which should be here in late Sept.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The Organic Mechanic’s hands are warm where they trail over Max’s skin, the
liquid he paints onto Max is cold in contrast, slightly stinging. It smells
like Iodine mixed with other chemicals. It feels like ice cubes and trails
tingling numbness in it’s wake. Fingers palpitating his arm pits firmly but it
is just another press on his glands.
Max is still too focused on his fears to really notice it until the spike goes
through the meat of his armpit, sinking straight through the soft flesh beside
the glands and grazing the nerve cluster there.
It hurts like nothing Max has ever felt before. Not even when the Black Skulls
put the piercing in his hip to try and chain him easier. All the breath leaves
his lungs, a scream never breaking out because he has no breath left to process
it by the time his body sends the signal to scream.
The other side is pierced just as Max starts to try and draw in air again. Max
can't help shedding tears, his entire body flooding with pain and shock. He
feels the world starting to go darker as his body is frozen between actions,
unable to process all the new input so suddenly.
More liquid splashes his sides and back then there is another slap to the bond
gland, which shocks his system into finally sucking in air and waking him back
up. He wishes it hadn't. His mind and body both tell him to get free. Cold at
the small of his back, pressing into the knot of nerves just above the hip
bone, between spine and hip. A hoop all the way across, he can feel it looped
under his spine, digging in deep inside, pressing on bundles of nerves there,
can distantly feel the pain of it, but that sharp sensation of pain is
overwritten by the unthinking desire to crawl away, to present his belly and
submit. Anything to make this stop.
All Max can think of with every breath, is that he needs to sob, beg, whine.
He's trained for if the civilized expected worst happens. Part of being a
Service Omega, no matter if it was just in the police force. It was mandatory.
The military created Omega Breaking Resistance Courses. All of that training
and practice means nothing in this moment. Barely a fluttering edge of his
training fighting to overcome instincts before being subsumed in the flood of
pain and panic. No one sane could imagine this. Could do this. This is so much
more, so much worse, than the potential of being raped into a bond by a group
of alphas. Worse than the horrors of a flesh harness. Worse than any history
book or dry text or sensationalized omegan binding rape fantasy novel.
Because the probing has already moved on to just beside his groin, in the front
of his hips, and Max doesn't care about anything right now except making it
stop. Making it go away. Every breath makes his armpits throb, signals from the
nerve clusters sending mixed messages that have his mind falling apart from
sheer overwhelming sensation.
He babbles, breaks into pleas, sobbing and begging while trying to present his
throat. Every few breaths brings more bursts of slick and pheromones flooding
into the air, a defense mechanism hardwired into every omega. The cold sharp
pressure doesn't even really hurt this time, Max's senses already on overload.
It feels like more pressure, again, on the other side, and Max's flooded brain
almost clears enough to start trying to apply what he was taught, decades ago.
Max counts his breaths, the tangy Iodine scent in the air makes him want to
vomit but he manages to stop pleading. The tears, the slick, the hormones, he's
already let those happen. Can’t stop them now, no matter how much control he
has been trained to have, manages to scrape together once more.
His tears are oily, the taste is the bitter sickly sweet of over-ripe fruit.
His system trying to attract and be too appealing to hurt violently, while
simultaneously trying to flag any Alpha in scent range to come save him, at the
same time.
"Oh, you are potent, ain't ya. We're gonna need to bottle that. You, You,
gather his tears- that's it, yeah, just like that."
Small hands, still clumsy with the fleshy softness of youth, hold collection
vials to Max's cheeks and eyes. Max wants to stop crying, wants to refuse, but
it's all he can do to keep from screaming. Counting his breaths, eyes clenched
so he can't see the children who are watching this. Seeing this. Participating
in his decimation. Collecting the shredded scraps of his defiance into bottles.
He tries not to think about it, but the warm fingers of the man are probing
over his tail bone. Max’s eyes open against his will and his lips fall open in
a scream that, this time, is at full force. The braided bit in his mouth cuts
into his cheeks as he screams out his pain and the much more disturbing sudden
burst of pleasure that finally processes as such while it follows the pain up
his spine.
His eyes lock on the chubby powder white faces of the boys catching his tears,
and he loses what little control he had, his stomach finally wrenching and
every drop of precious water he had been fed- and it tasted like, like juice,
actual juice, came pouring out of his mouth in heaves as he looked into the
awed and terrified faces of two little boys. In this moment his mind couldn't
tell them apart from his youngest.
All around, were faces watching, and not a one was old enough to see a horror
like this. He could not stop picturing his children in their faces.
Worst of all, despite all this anguish, despite the deepening horror, despite
everything-
The hands, the pressure, the pain, never stopped. All the signals overlapped,
as his body recovered from the shock of such brutal invasions- every ounce of
the pain was becoming waves of all consuming pleasure.
"Ohhh, good." The medic purrs while delivering a sharp slap to Max’s Omegan
entrance. The flushed entrance is audibly gooey and sopping, the force of the
smack making Max’s cock jump while his anus flares and flexes. Max's lips
forming a moan despite the remaining bile on his tongue and the horror in his
eyes, his body processing pleasure, the tears tapering off and only the sweet
scent of pure honey filling the air. Max is drowning in lust despite everything
in his mind screaming horror and pain.
The next probe of warm adult fingers is along his neck, and chubby fingers are
now holding his hair, dozens of childish hands pressing on his cheeks, nose,
and Max can't barely gasp for breath over his desire to hurl, which overloads
any possible remaining desire to fight, because "Now, don't you move, you sweet
broken mother... or this will get messy."
This time, this time Max can see the rows of piercings, open parts lined up on
a board like teeth. Prepared to bite in at the same time, this hideous cluster
of metal that is about to go through the side of his neck, about to skim
straight into his bonding nerve clusters, these ones he knows about. Has had
nightmares about. These ones- the children's hands are pressing on his face,
pulling on his bit, bodies pressing tight as Max manages to finally say a word
aloud- to scream "NO!" just once, before his mind is whiting out and drifting
away from it all.
He's floating, his body is in the throes of an orgasm, and the strong smell of
Iodine, and the sweet neutral scent of baby betas mixes with his honey to match
the mingled scent of burning motor oil and flesh in his worst nightmares.
Because Max knows what this mad medic was planning. Knows, now, intimately and
without doubt what all these piercings do. Have done. Will help do.
Because an Omega can only come to full oestrus like this- go into a true
bondable high like this, with an Alpha’s consistent and constant attention over
the course of hours. But there isn't a single alpha in the room.
Max has lost this battle- drugs or simple injections, even the old ritual
bindings and the hideous chain of neck piercings could only get him up to half
heat. But right now, oh. Right now, Max is more ready for pleasure and touch
than he has been in over 30 years. Possibly ever.
"Gorgeous." The voice should be abrasive, but all Max can do is whimper. His
mind and body disconnected. Separated.
He feels more pressure, this time in each of his thighs, in the meat of his
shoulders, two give pleasure, two make his arms go numb for a moment.
But Max can't make himself care. Because those little hands and larger teen
hands are reverently touching the loops of silver on his neck, more coming
along his sides and every touch, every slight tug and jangle of the little
metal tubes is like a bonding bite. Is like those innocent fingers are Haley
and Dave and their bonding night, where he had felt like a raw nerve as they
became one pack, where every touch had been pleasure. Every single twitch of
every one of those metal loops and bars and tubes feels, exactly like that.
Max wants to scream. It comes out a desperate guttural moan.
Max feels the last of his fight bleed into bone deep acceptance, his mind fully
saturating with pleasure, all the signals from his body bludgeoning him into
just being. Into just feeling. 
And it feels good .
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, uh, this horror show is brought to you by my sick mind and an
     intense joy at counting kudos.
     If you have any feedback, or things you liked/want to see/ were
     horribly squicked but couldn't stop reading, let me know!
     YES you will all get the joy of Max personally delivering the OM to
     the devil himself- or at least to tire treads, in a much later
     chapter
     PS: Updates will be sporadic while I am beta/second writer-less. I am
     horrible about editing- it's why I gave my beta co-author credit. XD
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