Hearts of Deceit (ManxMan)

Ch 1: The Circumstances

Conrad Fitzroy. Male. Delta. That's what it said on the name-tag I wore. Sub-gender, nice and bright underneath the gender and name. Delta. It was too bright. Too noticeable. I saw it every morning as I walked into the bar. Clocked in using the chip on the back of the name-tag. Pinned it on. Saw it again every night as I clocked out and threw my uniform into a small and dirty locker. Saw it in the bathroom mirror as I went on my break. 

It was a reminder of what I was and everything I wasn't. I was a delta. I was not an omega. I was not an alpha. Hell, the goddess couldn't even have been bothered to make me a beta or a gamma. 

It wouldn't have been so bad, I often thought. I could handle the dirty looks as I walked into a New York Cafe above my pay grade with omegas way out of my league and alphas taller and stronger than I could ever hope to be. But, y'see, it ain't even that dismally simple. Oh no.

See, alphas were the kings and queens of the world. The leaders, the strongmen, the boss that could chew your ass out because he was having a rough patch with the wife. Betas were the charismatic second-in-ranks. They were also strong and had powerful personalities and enough social goodwill that, honestly, who could hate them? They were alphas without tempers. Maybe weaker. The gammas were the perfect middle. The most common subgender, if only by a plurality. Lean, smart, kind, normal. A very versatile group of people. Then came the deltas.

Yes, in technicality, omegas were the lowest rank. At least, insofar as the outdated and politically incorrect (as many academics liked pointing out) ranking system was organized, which was on the basis of average physical strength and temperament. Omegas were the weakest on average. Of course, they were also very intelligent. 

That wasn't the point, see. The point? The point was that, out of the five, deltas were the awkward sibling. Not quite the adored youngest, nor the respected oldest. They weren't considered as smart as gammas, as pretty as omegas, as strong as alphas, and much too awkward and servile to charm and socialize like betas. Some joked that deltas were omegas but only if omegas were too tall, too lanky, too pale, dumb and asocial and, well, in politically incorrect terms, ugly. 

Those were the circumstances. "Those are the cards you get," my dad would say. "What you gonna do about it, kiddo?"

I hadn't done much. I didn't need to do anything more than get used the circumstances that surrounded my life. I staved off the bullies. It wasn't particularly difficult. After all, there were no alphas at the old schools around the blocks where I grew up. What alpha family with enough money (and that was most of 'em) in their right mind would send their alpha or omega kid to schools in a decrepit neighborhood of New York? 

"Can't be that hard, anyways," I remembered my dad telling me with a half-smirk. "Deltas can go their whole life ignored."

It was true. If we weren't being ostracized for being in the wrong space, we were left alone. I stuck with my delta friends. We grew up like any other kid. We jumped rope, played four square, failed quizzes, tested our curfews and dated. All within our own little delta bubbles. Maybe a stray gamma would join us at our lunch table or out in a game of tag in the school yard. 

Really the circumstances weren't that bad. I hardly even noticed, growing up in a slightly rowdy part of the city. I was Conrad, son of Connor and Linda Fitzroy (both deltas), Irish catholic descent, male, red-head, big green eyes, toothy grin, aspiring mechanic or craftsmen like my dad. I had my best friend, James Montgomery Roman, son of a very rich and powerful family but also a delta with an awkward smile. I had Elise Okafore (gamma), a daughter of Nigerian immigrants and the type of person who would find abandoned buildings throughout the neighborhood to drink beer  in on lazy nights and wax gibberish and pseudo-philosophy while passing a joint.