Chapter Text
The results arrived with the muffled hum of the printer in the medical bay. Medic, accustomed to reading reports with the detached detachment of a scientist, was stunned by the perfectly printed black-on-white letters.
Mikhail, also known as Heavy, was an Omega.
A silence fell over the room, broken only by the ticking of the clock above the door. Ludwig read the result once, twice, three times. He reread it with a frown and a tight jaw. It didn't make sense. How was this possible?
How could the largest man on the entire base—the strongest, the toughest, the one everyone feared on the battlefield—be an Omega?
At that instant, his mind refused to accept it. It was easier to believe that Scout hid his second gender under a loud, annoying facade than to imagine Mikhail, the Russian giant, with the biology of an Omega. "There must have been a mistake in the machine..." he told himself. He needed to confirm it for himself.
The Scent Experiment
Everyone knew that Omegas were sensitive to Alpha pheromones, especially in times of fatigue or stress. It was an almost animal instinct: when an Omega sensed the scent of a dominant Alpha, their body reacted unconsciously. And Ludwig was an Alpha, one with exceptional control over his emissions.
The plan was simple, almost clinical: create the most frustrating day for Heavy and observe his reaction when exposed to controlled alpha pheromones. If Mikhail's body reacted... then there would be no doubt.
It all started early. Medic had discreetly orchestrated a series of events with the help of some teammates, especially Scout, who didn't need much motivation to annoy Heavy. During morning training, Scout teased him mercilessly, mocking his aim, pushing him in the mess hall, even stealing the last slice of meatloaf.
Later, during the day's mission, RED missed the second checkpoint. The frustrated team blamed Heavy for not covering their rear properly. It was unfair, yes, but all part of the experiment. And to top it all off, when the Russian wanted to take a break and make his beloved sandwich... there was no ham. Nothing. Not a single slice.
Heavy, visibly irritated and exhausted, returned to the base, crestfallen. That's when Medic made his move.
"Mikhail, please come with me to the office," he said in his most neutral voice.
Heavy didn't protest. He felt drained, as if the whole day had worn him down emotionally. When he sat down on the stretcher, Ludwig offered him a cup of hot tea. Everything was arranged with surgical precision: the room temperature, the lighting, even the aroma of the tea—everything to make Heavy lower his defenses.
Ludwig sat closer than usual. He pretended to review some papers while discreetly releasing a controlled dose of his pheromones. He didn't need much. Just a small sample would do.
And then he saw it.
Heavy's body reacted almost instantly. His breathing, labored by the day's tension, began to slow. His shoulders drooped. His eyelids fluttered slowly, as if exhaustion had suddenly overtaken him. But even more revealing was what Medic smelled: a soft, almost imperceptible scent of vanilla ice cream. Sweet, faint, and warm. The signature scent of a vulnerable Omega.
It wasn't strong. It wasn't obvious. But it was there. His alpha instinct recognized it immediately.
Ludwig said nothing. He just watched.
It was then that Mikhail, as if realizing what was happening, opened his eyes wide. He looked at him, not with fear, but with something more complex: a mixture of shame, surprise, and suppressed rage. He jumped up, spilling some of his tea, and ran off without a word.
Medic didn't stop him. He didn't follow him.
He just sat there, the cup still warm in his hands... and the certainty etched in his chest:
Yes. Heavy was an Omega.