A/N: Version 2.0. I pulled the original "By Definition" down because I was never going to be able to finish it as it was originally written. Too much wasn't working. This is going to be different in some ways. It's starting off in a darker/bleaker place than the original. As in the original, omegas are super oppressed/objectified/brainwashed, so there's a complete lack of consent here. However, there is nothing graphic or explicit - it's all implied. Roman and Pup will meet this chapter instead of three chapters in, and it's very different, too. We're headed to a similar place, but via another path.

By Definition

I. Sub-human
a. On Alphas, betas, and omegas

On the surface, it appears that the world is at peace.

In school, young Alphas are taught that, other than the occasional chest-beating between Alpha clan leaders, things are stable. Clan territory lines are clear and well-respected by everyone, and Alpha Rule keeps everything running like clockwork. There haven't been territory fights or raids in half a century, and because there's been peace the world over, industry and technology have grown at an exponential rate.

The world is flourishing.

So they say.

Alphas are the top of the food chain, naturally. The leaders, the fighters, the law, the doctors, the entrepreneurs - they're groomed to be these things from birth. Alphas are the movers and shakers. They're the reason there are paved roads and air conditioning and buildings reaching for the sky. To be born an Alpha is to know that you've got a place in the world no matter what - even if your skills are more suited for building houses than building businesses. Alphas always have the right to do whatever they want.

It's their world.

Betas, the bulk of the world's population, are content with their place. Lacking the aggression of Alphas or the feeble minds of omegas, they're the laborers whose hands pour the concrete and weld the steel and hammer the nails. They're allowed to teach beta children, but not Alpha children. They can be nurses, but not doctors. They can be research assistants, but not researchers in their own right. As long as they show due deference to their Alphas, betas are allowed their freedoms: they can own a home (but not land), travel (with permission), and also raise children (if they can afford to purchase one from an Alpha or an adoption center).

The one thing betas cannot do is refuse an Alpha who wants to date or marry them. Nor can they refuse sex with them. It's not all that common that Alphas want to fuck betas these days, not with twenty-four hour access to omegas, but Alphas marry betas all the time whether the beta wants to or not.

It's just the way it goes.

At the bottom of the food chain, of course, are omegas.

Mute, feeble-minded, and weak, omegas exist only for Alphas' pleasure. They're genetically inferior to Alphas and betas in every conceivable way, unable to follow anything but the most basic commands. Raised inside Omega Centers, they're trained how to do the only two things they're capable of doing: servicing Alphas' sexual needs and having babies.

Once they're trained, they're moved to the breeding part of the Omega Center, where any Alpha can drop in and have sex with any available omega they choose - day or night, whether the omega is in heat or not. Alphas tend to prefer heating omegas, as knotting helps the Alpha work out any extra aggression, but they can - and do - knot non-heating omegas just as well. To curb population growth, omegas are given regular birth control shots that prevent pregnancies without taking away the omega's ability to heat. If an Alpha wants a child, they simply fill out a form, and are given a fertile omega to impregnate.

Up until the last ten years or so, almost no Alphas owned omegas.

The vast majority of them still don't.

For the longest time, omegas were a scarce resource - to the the point where Alphas began to worry about the future of humanity - but over the last half-century or so, omega population has grown and stabilized to the point where it's no longer a concern. Even so, think tank minds decided that keeping a community's omegas in a place where all Alphas could use them would reduce aggression and intra-Alpha violence. If Alphas knew they would always be able to satisfy their sexual urges and procreate anytime they wanted, they could be free to pursue more lofty goals.

In the last few years, though, it's become trendy for very rich Alphas to parade their own personal omegas around on leashes like some kind of pet. A lot of betas look down on this, as they worry that it's going to make Alphas start fighting again (not to mention how weird it looks to have nearly naked sub-humans crawling around on leashes in public), but they never say anything about it.

There's a story about a place where everyone lives happily and in peace. A golden place. Paradise. Omelas. Everyone is happy there except for a single child. This child is kept under the city, near-starved. It knows nothing of love or kindness, because it is denied those things. Every citizen in the city eventually comes to see it. They know it suffers. Most live happily despite that. A few, a small few, can't bear the guilt and choose to leave paradise. But they are few and they don't stop the citizens of Omelas from living in peace.

A tiny percentage of betas object to omegas being treated the way they are and sneak off to live in betas-only colonies on the outskirts of civilization. The vast majority just accept it. And even if they aren't always happy about having to marry Alphas, they do it. Even if betas aren't always happy they can't travel freely or have a say in government despite outnumbering Alphas eight to one or work certain jobs that they would probably excel at, they don't complain.

The trains run on time. There's medicine. Technology. Roads. A world that, on the surface, is calm.

It's a good world.

So they say.

They're all liars.

Every single one of them.

b. Meet Mox

Jon Moxley is the kind of guy who can never stand still.

Annoying is a word he's heard used to describe him.

Energetic is what he'd call himself.

Bright blue eyes, shaggy brown hair, a long body tight with lean muscle, and a wicked troublemaker's smile, he's the kind of guy who can never seem to keep out of trouble. It doesn't matter if he's just walking down the street or headed into work.

Trouble always finds him.

Ordinarily he doesn't mind that - he's willing to throw down and fight any wannabe tough guy Alpha prick who wants to step to him - but sometimes it's a real pain in the ass when he's trying to do his job.

Firefighting.

Take today: a torched SUV behind a building. Two truck crews from two different precincts answer the call in what's basically a clusterfuck. Both precincts want the credit for putting the fire out, and neither backs down when the other tries to stake their claim. The truck crews end up face-to-face, glares and bared teeth, each crew ready to throw down and claim this fire as their own.

Mox genuinely doesn't start the fight this time. Well. He might make a kind of obnoxious kissy face at this big Alpha prick he hates named Baron Corbin, but Corbin is the prick who crosses the line first. Like the bitch-boy he his, Corbin takes a bitch-boy sucker-punch swing at Mox's face and smashes Mox's nose.

He staggers backward into his crew-mate, Antonio, nose gushing like a busted water balloon.

Antonio tries to hold Mox back from retaliating, but Mox is too angry to let himself be contained that way.

Furious, he throws down right there, tackling Corbin to the ground and punching him until Antonio and Drake drag him off. By then it's too late to stop the fight, though: the other crew's Alphas rush in to join the fray, professional firefighters and grown Alphas ignoring a vehicle on fire to scrap like schoolyard boys. The scene commanders bellow at them over bullhorns to break it the hell up, Alphas, but in their battle frenzy, the Alphas disregard them.

It's hard to stop Alphas - or omega-born Alphas like Mox - once they get going.

All Mox knows is there's three Alphas trying to tackle Antonio and Drake, and that's completely bullshit, so he human cannonballs into them, knocking them down. Fists and feet fly. His heavy coat and overalls deflect the worst of it, but his helmet goes flying off somewhere when he gets picked up and slammed to the ground by some big-ass prick named Corbin. He's bleeding like a stuck pig from his nose, but he ignores that and scrambles up to launch himself right into Corbin's stomach again, sending the two of them toppling into the side of one of the trucks.

For Mox, though, when the fight ends, everything ends.

He never sees it coming.

Somebody grabs him from behind and throws him headfirst at the truck.

He hits the corrugated running board hard, and everything goes black.

When he wakes up, he finds himself on the floor of a sterile white room, head pounding and his body aching like he'd been run through a meat grinder. Naked, he realizes when he finally lifts his head, except for a black jockstrap over his genitals and a slim collar around his neck.

His blood freezes.

A door opens and a woman in all blue walks through. She's small with blond hair and no expression on her face. Her eyes are like ice chips. She has a syringe in hand.

Oh shit, Mox thinks, scrambling away from her. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Caught. I'm caught.

"We've found you at last, omega," she says softly, not moving. She sounds like a disappointed teacher. "We've been looking for you for a very long time. We're amazed you survived. Imagine our surprise when the hospital told us they found an omega posing an Alpha. What a clever little omega you are."

"'M not a little anything," he spits at her. Turns out it's hard to sound brave when he's cowering in a corner. He claws his way to his feet. He's bigger than she is. Even on wobbly legs and seeing two of her, he could take her. "Lemme go! I'm not a goddamn omega. I'm an Alpha. I'm a fucking Alpha. Lemme go!"

"I'm afraid we can't do that, omega." She plucks a remote control out of her pocket. "The laws are clear. You are a biological omega, and therefore your place is in an Omega Center, servicing the Alphas of this city."

"Fuck your laws." Mox takes a stumbling step forward. "Fuck you. I'm not a fucking thing. I'm a human being. Fucking listen to me. I'm not one of those brain dead zombies. I'm a person, you bitch! I'm a person. You can't do this to me. Let me go!"

The woman calmly presses a button on the remote.

Pain the likes of which Jon Moxley has never experienced in his life shoots down from his neck. It's like a thousand lightning bolts firing down his veins, searing him all the way to his fingertips and toes. For a crazy moment he wonders if this is what it's like to be fried from the inside. His knees buckle, and he falls to the floor in a strengthless little ball, too hurt to even scream.

When it's over, he lies on the cold, hard floor like a fish dropped onto the shore, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, eyes bulging.

"Hush now omega," the woman above him sings, her voice soft and honeyed, "don't say a word. I'm gonna show your place in the world."

And the last conscious thought Jon Moxley has before the needle pierces his neck and takes everything away is, I'm a person. I'm a person. I'm a person. I'm a-

c. Meet Roman

Alpha Roman Reigns is not just another face in the crowd.

Intimidating is a word he's heard used to describe him.

Striking is what he'd call himself.

Deep brown eyes, long thick black hair, tall, a body that's well-defined with muscle, and a distinctive sleeve tattoo, he's the kind of guy that always gets a double-take from people. It doesn't matter if he's just walking down a sunny beach or in a three-piece suit at work.

People always look.

Ordinarily he doesn't mind that, but today, standing between his father and soon-to-be father-in-law, Roman feels really out of place.

The Reigns Clan has controlled Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas - Southern Coastal Territory - for the better part of the last fifty years. They'd taken it in a quiet, bloodless coup when the previous leader couldn't produce an heir worthy of taking over. By brokering smart deals and making wise use of resources, the Reigns clan had prospered in a big way. They'd amassed an immense wealth and raised the standard of living by about ten times what it was.

They're in no danger whatsoever of anyone trying to oust them.

In fact, the whole point of everything that's happened in the last three months has been to see that it never happens again.

The McMahon clan controls the Northeast Territory, everything from Maine to New York. They're not the biggest geographically, but they're huge in terms of power and influence. They control New York City - where Roman, his father, and Hunter Helmsley are now - which is currently the financial capitol of the world. There's little business that goes on that doesn't filter through New York City, and Vince McMahon, in turn.

Vince McMahon is the single-most powerful Alpha in the United States right now.

His daughter Stephanie is the second-most powerful, making her husband Hunter third.

When Roman marries into the family the day after tomorrow, he'll join his father as the next most-powerful, putting them head and shoulders above all the other clan leaders in the country.

Not that Roman cares.

Vince McMahon had seen how strong the Reigns clan had become, and, in the interest of maintaining the peace on the east coast, made a business deal with Roman's father. It was the usual exchange of raw materials, travel rights, and other resources between clans to ensure continued peace. Boring. Roman hadn't even paid attention at the deal-making.

Until, that was, the topic shifted to the traditional way to seal the deal: marriage.

At that, Roman hadn't even blinked, at first: one of his sisters, a beta, would be wed to an McMahon Alpha who would come to live in Florida. That much Roman had known because Dad mentioned it beforehand.

What Dad hadn't mentioned was that Roman himself would be put out for marriage into the McMahon clan. Roman was already engaged to a high-status beta, so it came as a shock when Dad agreed to have Roman marry Vince's grandson. Stephanie and Hunter's oldest beta boy.

Roman had no idea it was coming. At the table, Dad said, "Roman will marry your son Seth and join your family in Connecticut," and that was that.

Fast-forward three months, and the wedding's tomorrow.

Roman's head hasn't stopped spinning.

He's been living in New York ever since, having been pulled out of his job managing the family's construction company to be another cog in the McMahons' cold, corporate machine. His life's become an endless series of meetings: PR meetings, job meetings, meetings with wedding planners and the house decorator, meetings with the McMahons to discuss their expectations. Meetings about meetings. Meetings about his spouse-to-be that don't actually include his spouse-to-be. Chaperoned meetings with his spouse-to-be where they don't even talk to each other. And on and on.

The hardest part is he'd had to break off his year-long engagement to the fiery beta he'd fallen in love with in college for this crap. Kara was everything he wanted in a spouse: tough and determined, unafraid to speak her mind (behind closed doors), smart, sweet, and adventurous. She'd loved him, too. There was no weird, forced Alpha thing between them. Breaking her heart was the worst thing he'd ever done.

Dad hadn't cared.

"This is your life now, son," he'd said. "Accept it. This is how it is."

As he's Roman's senior and clan leader, there isn't a damn thing Roman can do but obey.

d. Roman meets Pup

Obeying today means accompanying Dad and Hunter to an Omega Center.

Roman has never been interested in keeping his own pet omega, but Vince and Hunter both insisted that owning one would help cement Roman's status in the upper echelon of the McMahon clan. It's become tradition for Alphas of Vince and Hunter's status to have them.

Hence the trip to pick one out at this Omega Center.

This Center is no different from any Roman's been to. The intake area in which Roman, his father, and Hunter are waiting is screaming white, remorseless and spotless, so clean you could probably eat off of any of its surfaces. It's sterile and clean, the air out here filtered to keep any stray omega scents from inadvertently setting off any Alphas.

Beyond the metal doors, Roman knows he'll find the scenting hall. Omegas available for sex are put in plexiglas pods, which are stacked four-high and line both sides of the hallway. The omegas stay on their hands and knees with their pussies facing the hallway so Alphas can smell them. Each plexiglas pod has holes in it that allows the scent to drift out, while also protecting the omega from just being grabbed and taken by some out-of-control Alpha. The Alpha chooses the omega that smells best to them. An attendant then takes the omega either to one of the free soundproofed cubicles at the back (that just have a cot and a sink) or, for Alphas that want to spend a little money, to one of the nicer rooms (which have a bed and all manner of sexual toys to play with).

The rooms, in Roman's opinion, always make for a much more enjoyable experience when he has the time for it, but the cubicles are always fine when he's in a hurry.

He shifts and glances at his watch.

They've only been standing at Intake for a couple minutes, but it feels like hours.

Just as he has that thought, the stainless steel door slide out, and a handsome beta dressed all in blue steps through. "Alphas," he says, bowing to them, "good morning. My name is Brad. I'll be your attendant today. My apologies for the delay. We have everything set up for you, if you'll follow me."

Hunter, a big Thor-like Alpha with a huge nose and angry buzzcut hair, nudges Roman's arm. "They have the best stock in the world here. I'm sure we'll find something you like."

"I'm sure," Roman says politely. He lets Hunter and his father both go ahead of him, walking slightly behind them as is respectful for a lower-rank Alpha to do.

They follow the attendant down a hallway that's so white-bright that Roman feels like his eyeballs are going to melt from it. Both sides of this hallway are lined with empty omega pods, which gives Roman pause, since he'd expected to just walk along the line and scent them like he always does.

Instead, he finds himself led into a viewing room, where there are no pods. There are five rows of omegas kneeling on the floor, five rows in each. They all have their foreheads down, their hands behind their backs, and their knees spread wide to present their pussies.

All of them are naked, other than the black collars and the pouches covering their genitals.

None of the omegas are in heat, but they smell incredible just the same.

"These omegas were selected based on your specific scent profile, Alpha Reigns," Brad tells him as soon as the door slides shut behind them. "Any one of them would make an ideal pet for you."

Hunter takes a few steps inside the room and breathes deep. Hazel eyes gleam with undisguised lust. "Nothing better than the smell of wide open omega pussy, is there, Roman? Man. Just looking at all this - I tell ya, I think I'm just have to book a room before we go today. Brad," he adds to the young man in blue, "have someone find me something that needs a knot. Go put it in my usual room. I'll be up as soon as we're done here. Sika?"

Dad's staring at the omegas with the same kind of want in his eyes. "Yes, please."

"We'll have Roman do a trial run with the omega he picks," Hunter says, "so get us three rooms, Brad."

"Yes, Alpha," Brad says, drifting over to the door and speaking quietly into a small intercom panel.

Hunter rubs his hands together. "All right, Roman. Take a look around."

Whatever reservations Roman might have had about this melt as he walks behind the lines of omegas, carefully sniffing at each of them to try to find source of that amazing scent. It could be the combination of all these omegas, but he's almost positive it's coming from one particular omega.

It is.

The omega in the second row, right on the end, is the one.

Roman smells it and something in his brain lights up like fireworks.

It's a bigger omega than the others, even though it's trying to look as small as it can. There's no hiding long legs or wide shoulders or a broad back. Omegas tend to be small and thin, delicate. The ones Roman's always used have been, anyway, but this one doesn't look like any of those things. Its thigh muscles are thick and looks strong.

He hunkers down behind it and runs a hand over its flank, breathing the scent wafting up out of its pussy. Up close, it's actually incredible, this woodsy kind of musk that reminds Roman of forests and old leather and amber whiskey. It doesn't actually smell like those things - it just smells like strong omega - but it underneath that, there's a scent like mate.

Like mine.

He can't remember the last time one has smelled this good to him - or if one even ever has.

"This one," he says, settling a possessive hand in the middle of its back.

It tenses under his touch.

Brad makes his way over, while Hunter and Dad both move to stand at the edge of the row.

"That's a big one," Dad says. "I don't think I've ever seen one that big."

"Big omega for a big guy," Hunter says with a grin. "I like it. Shows you can handle something your size. It looks tough, too. All kinds of things you can do to it."

"Can you have it sit up, Alpha Reigns?" Brad asks Roman.

"Up," Roman commands it.

The omega puts its hands on the floor and slowly raises itself up so that it's resting on his haunches.

Roman rises and moves around to the front so he can look at it properly.

Really nothing remarkable about it, he decides. Plain, even-featured face and soft sandy hair. Same vacant eyes as all the other omegas. They're a nice shade of blue, at least. Not pretty, exactly, but they do have a certain appeal.

He frowns, though, when he sees thin white scars criss-crossing the omega's chest and upper arms. "This one's been used pretty hard from the looks of things," he says. "Where did all these scars come from?"

Who hurt my mate?

"It was actually from accident when it was younger, Alpha," Brad says smoothly. "We've adjusted the price to reflect the less-than-pristine condition."

"Why was this one even brought out at all?" Dad demands. "We specified your best stock."

"All of these omegas were selected for maximum compatibility with your son's scent profile, Alpha Reigns," Brad replies. "This one tested particularly well, as you can see. We realize it's a bit damaged, but the damage is superficial. It's not the kind that can or will be transmitted to offspring. While it's not the most pleasant to look at, I doubt anyone will actually notice. There are far fewer scars on its back."

"Even if they do notice them," Hunter says, "they'll just think Roman is a bad-ass. It's not a problem. Nobody cares, anyway. The important thing is, do you like it, Roman?"

"I do," Roman says, resting a hand on top of its head. "It smells great to me."

"Very good, Alpha Reigns," Brad says, touching a chip on the omega's collar. A little blue LED strip lights up with the omega's ID: PUP-120785MOHT.

"Pup," Roman murmurs. "I thought you didn't name them."

"We don't, Alpha Reigns," Brad answers. "Those are just random letters. Sometimes we get BOB or SAM or even DAD, but it's never intentional. The letters are randomly assigned. You can call it whatever you want. In any case, here." He produces a leash and hands it to Roman. "Let's have you take it back to a room and try it on. You may have scent compatibility, but we need to make sure it performs up to your sexual standards. If not, we've got a whole room full of omegas who are well-matched to your scent profile."

Roman reaches down to clip the leash onto the ring on the omega's collar. Arousal, low and heated, begins to stir.

"Before we go, though, Alpha," Brad says. "So I can alert our surgery team, with whatever omega you choose, are you going to want any alterations?"

"Alterations?" Roman asks, shaking his head. "What does that mean?"

"Some of our clients prefer to have certain unnecessary body parts removed, Alpha." Calm and quiet, Brad removes a tablet out of his pocket. "For example, you may wish to have its teeth removed. We can amputate external genitalia. We've also removed arms and legs, as you can just put the omega in a sling and leave it there."

"I had the teeth taken out of my first one," Hunter says. "It makes for a hell of a smooth blowjob."

Disquieted, Roman turns away. "No. No, I don't want any alterations. I'll leave mine intact."

"Very good, Alpha," Brad replies, tapping his tablet. He walks down the row of kneeling omegas and approaches Hunter and Dad. "Alphas, I believe your rooms should be ready by now, if you'll follow me. All of you," he adds, glancing at Roman. "It's this way."

Roman gives the leash a tug. "Down. Follow."

The sandy-haired omega obediently drops to its hands and knees, and begins to crawl behind Roman, who follows his father and future father-in-law out the door.

e. mine

Two hours later, a refreshed and redressed Roman steps out into the cool, clean Omega Center hallway, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Brad materializes out of nowhere with a tablet in hand. "How would you rate that experience, Alpha, on a scale of five stars?"

They always ask this after an Alpha has an omega. It's for quality assurance purposes. Roman considers. "Four. It wasn't as enthusiastic as I like my omegas to be, but it was obedient and it had good technique."

"Mm." Brad taps his tablet. "That's in line with other reviews of this particular omega. Low responsiveness outside its heats, but good technique. Average responsiveness during heats. Speaking of which, we'll give it a heat trigger tonight. It won't kick in for a couple days, which I understand will be just in time for your honeymoon. Congratulations. Standard procedure is also to give it a one-month birth control shot so you can evaluate it during heat to see if it's still satisfactory for you. Assuming, of course, this is the one you want?"

"Yeah," Roman says, glancing around at the closed door. He'd almost given into temptation a moment ago and knotted the omega again. Their combined scents were that good. He'd honestly never smelled anything like it. That omega in heat - Pup - was going to be amazing. "Yeah, I do."

A/N: So, I wanted Roman to be more part of his world here instead of the complete outsider he was in the original. I know this is a radical departure from, 'Roman defends his crying mate from asshole Hunter and immediately realizes omegas are human,' but I wanted Roman's awakening to what's going on around him to be more gradual and organic. Less of an immediate slap to the face and more of a slow eye-opening.

He's not a bad guy in this. He's a product of how he was raised. In his own way, he's just as brainwashed as the omegas.