The WereGames III - Game Over: A Paranormal Dystopian Romance

by Jade White

  Every time she saw a werebeing dead, it furthered her resolve to help in any way she could. It was the least she could do, after all; most of the werebeings served the country well and protected everyone from rebels. At least that wasn’t a lie. When she felt well enough, she was allowed to watch the State News with a chaperone beside her.

  Alexia had limited contact with people, even from those within the hospital. On her eighth day, she had begun to wonder if life had always been that lonesome for her. She knew she had no family, knew that the hospital had raised her since childhood, and knew that one way or another, she had proven useful to them.

  Her age had made it evident. She was the eldest in the group, and the many youthful faces she saw were filled with fear and confusion. Whenever she had the opportunity to speak to them, she would do so in a calm and hushed tone, and their cries would abate or stop completely. It was in those moments that she found joy. There was something comforting about comforting other people, especially children. They tried to tell her things, things about themselves, but they would be stopped immediately by the doctors.

  She looked at her arm, watching the vitamins drip into her body. Today wasn’t too bad, now, was it?” she thought. She had made it through without vomiting, and that was a good thing. They had taken blood from her, and yet her eyes were still open and she could still think, even if her thoughts were oftentimes fuzzy.

  Despite the fuzziness, there was a young man’s hazy face that had been constant from the dreams. She could almost hear his voice clearly, as if he was speaking to her. Sometimes, he called out her name. She wondered who he was and why he surfaced in her dreams so often. The moment she woke up, she would be filled with disappointment, knowing that there would be no chance she’d be able to truly remember who he was.

  Perhaps he had been a doctor or a nurse; perhaps he had been another experiment. Was he alive? She didn’t tell Dr. Wallace about this. Every bone in her body told her that Dr. Wallace was a man who had the smile of an angel and the soul of a devil. Whatever she dreamed was her business, although her frustration mounted. Surely, the young man meant something to her. Today, that distorted face had said he loved her.

  The love that she’d felt in her dreams was vivid enough, and she wondered if love truly was like that. She had been trying to come to terms with the fact that Caliban had been her fiancée once, and that he was ‘trying to win her back’ one way or another. Had she really loved that soldier? He seemed callous and shifty, and it seemed like he could lose all control at any time, with the right stressor.

  A werebeing… how she met the werebeing and fallen in love with him, supposedly, made her feel stumped. She didn’t want to accept the fact that they were engaged. Had she always been so impulsive that she had to say yes to a decent-looking werebeing with a multitude of scars and restless eyes and an even more restless spirit?

  There was some kindness in him that had been clouded by his duties, she had thought, but she could never bring herself to pretend that she was fine with it, nor could she accept that she had indeed been engaged to him. How could she not remember any of that? She had been saved from ashes and rubble, according to him, and it had taken him days before he had done so.

  Amnesia- that was the word, and it was an ugly word. Despite the bad dreams, she was somehow glad she still had them, for she could see the mysterious young man’s hazy face; and she could grasp that semblance of family as well. She’d once had a family, contrary to what they had told her, and day by day, she was convinced that she had been given up by them, all for the sake of the country…

  Alexia’s mind played with escape once, but in her condition, she knew she wouldn’t get very far. Yes, they helped her, and yes, she helped them, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what went beyond the hospital and when she could actually leave and function like a normal citizen. A man had actually visited her once, as she had lain still for some scans. He’d had the demeanor of a military man, he’d worn an all-black suit, and his graying beard had been neatly trimmed. He’d had on a few medals that had shone, despite the overhead lights.

  He’d eyed her, chillingly, and Alexia had found herself uncomfortable. Her scans had been affected by this, and it was only through whispers that she had found out that he was the President of the country, who had come to check up on his ever-helpful subjects. She hadn’t forgotten the sound of his voice, and it had reminded her of days long gone and a childhood stolen.

  *

  There were only the oppressors and the oppressed, he had told himself. His subjects who were complacent were the unfortunate ones, but he knew it was his duty to rule with a mighty fist. It had been his mantra since childhood, and his grandfather had instilled in him the maturity and dedication needed to run a country, especially when it was a country filled with complainers.

  Magnus was surprisingly filled with a sense of pride upon seeing A129’s composure, despite the battery of tests they had given her. For someone who had been subjected to years and years of experiments, she still survived. He hadn’t seen her in so long, and he had expected a glimmer of compassion for her, but gladly, there was none.

  He had experienced a moment that was bittersweet in that brief gaze at her. Juliet’s face was there, Juliet’s eyes were there. He quickly looked away, disliking the feeling of susceptibility. There was a reason why he had sent two children away, further proof that he was a just ruler and that no one was above the law, not even his own flesh and blood.

  Jared had been a weak child, just like his mother; he had been killed off after a few tests in Sector 12. Alexandra had proven otherwise. Too bad she had shown mutations; otherwise, he knew that he could have had a brilliant marriage arranged for her. Ah, Alexandra. There was no looking back now. He had sent her away quickly – the moment Jared had reverted into a naked human child. Until now, her progress had surprised everyone, even him. She had been consistent at first, showing signs of promise. After a few years of stagnation with the results, they had decided to put her down, just like an animal.

  Her escape with Ryker had triggered new mutations, and as much as he wanted Ryker back, he had to be content with the fact that his ever-mutating daughter was within Sector 13’s confines. He had seen footage of her ability to make werebeings revert, and while it didn’t occur with everyone, the werebeings tested with her reported feelings of intense pain when she touched them under duress.

  Her blood was considered a steroid, and yet her touch was debilitating. A129 had the scientists stumped, but they worked with a frenzy to produce more steroids for his ever-growing army. His soldiers had gotten younger, and they had become more dispensable. Cloning was near impossible with the werebeings, and birthing took so long. Dr. Wallace had touched on the subject of reversing A129’s sterility. Perhaps, no matter the expense, the idea would prove fruitful.

  He welcomed this idea, despite his eldest son’s disapproval at the expenses – arguing that the funds would be served for a better purpose, especially for armaments. Stephen had no say in it yet; his second son hadn’t earned his wings – even more so, now that he had lost an arm. Magnus had wanted the arm cloned, but again, there was something about a werebeing attack that left victims unable to do so. Stephen had to contend with a bionic arm; and he knew his son’s self-esteem had further plummeted.

  His second son would no longer be viable as an heir. That was how things were; he wanted JJ to produce children of his own with Vanessa, now that a spare was out. Ah, the cruelty of life. It gave him all the more reason to defend his beliefs and his country that was now tearing apart at the seams. These were minor rebellions, but minor rebellions could grow. It was the same thing his grandfather had done to the Auberons, and Magnus knew he was in no position to slow down. He had gone through numerous secret surgeries to keep up with his aging body, and age was something he could not deny.

  There were many things he could do, but he needed to show his people and the world that he still ruled with might and power; that the United Stat
es was his burden to bear. That was the price to pay for a successful leadership, and he hoped JJ would do the same. JJ had sedated Stephen on purpose, after his second son had nearly attacked his fiancé. It would have been a harrowing event, were it not for the eldest son’s quick thinking.

  Magnus found himself understandably concerned and irked over the events. Stephen was being irresponsible, and it couldn’t have been his new arm. Dr. Wallace had specifically said the arm would act based on how Stephen wanted it to act, just like a real arm.

  There were no illegal drugs, he had been told. Perhaps Stephen was suffering from PTSD. He knew that JJ wanted to get to the bottom of it; it had been a first — when Stephen was willing to hurt a woman, a person that was not within military interest. His daughter-in-law had comforted Jeanne as best as she could, and Magnus had personally found himself assuring Jeanne that no harm would befall her and that Stephen would be back to his old self very soon.

  The deal was going to be in shambles, but he knew the Callaways needed him as much as he needed their jets. It was a sordid affair, but it would be dealt with quickly, and it had to start with his son.

  He hadn’t visited Stephen yet. He disliked seeing how vulnerable a Caledon could get, a Caledon who couldn’t get himself together. There was little he could do with regard to the psychological effects the military ops had had on his son; he could, however, control his son via Dr. Wallace’s assistance.

  The doctor had been invaluable since he had begun working for his programs a little over twenty years ago. He knew what the sinister doctor was capable of, knew that the weresoldiers wouldn’t have had that skill without him. Dr. Wallace had weeded out the useful and useless for him, a difficult task that he took on, nonetheless, to satisfy his sadistic streak.

  Dr. Wallace had also assisted in controlling those who needed to be controlled. His experiments were rumored to be beyond what any human could tolerate, psychologically, physically, and mentally, but Magnus knew it would be put to good use. He had done more in twenty years than the eighty years the Caledon regime had helmed.

  Magnus wondered how long his daughter could last. A fresh wave of testing could prove to be fatal this time, Dr. Wallace had said, and for how long, he had no idea. All the doctor knew was that there were changes to her body, changes that could either improve or destroy Magnus’ carefully crafted military and political career.

  Magnus chose to think of Alexia’s changes as something useful. Dr. Wallace was still on a search for others just like her, but unfortunately, none were like her. He would use his daughter until she perished; for it was only a slight discomfort on her part, rather than him losing the country entirely.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ryker had never seen the expanse of the military base that the Alaska Tribe had made. He had gone as far as Leopold’s office, and it had been miles underground already. The military base was apparently not so far down into the earth.

  “You guys built all of this undetected?” he asked, marveling at the sight of a full-scale military base, complete with jets and a plane that could transport a hundred soldiers comfortably.

  “You haven’t seen our submarine yet. It had our prized nuclear weapon, but I doubt it will be of much damage to Caledon,” Leopold told him wryly.

  “Any crack on the wall is better than no crack at all,” Ryker said, taking a closer look at one jet. He had fought against Caledon’s men, but he had never seen a jet up close.

  “Ah, but I want that wall to crumble to dust,” Leopold said with a smile. “But again, first things first. One of these jets will be instrumental in dropping you off closer to the Capital.”

  “You’ve found out where Alexia is?” Ryker’s heart beat faster this time, and he tried to control it. He knew he was getting way ahead of himself.

  “Not quite. We just know they passed through there.”

  “Then this mission will be too dangerous, and I don’t want to endanger your men, with what little you have.”

  “Nonsense. I said I would, and I shall. They will, too.”

  “They know who I am now?” Ryker’s eyes narrowed.

  Leopold nodded. “Yes, I had to tell them who the mysterious newcomer was. Word travels fast in a community that’s this contained. Don’t worry, though, they hold you in high esteem.”

  “I’ve done nothing,” Ryker frowned, one hand trailing over the jet’s matte finish.

  “You survived their hunt. You survived the WereGames. Doesn’t that matter enough? None of us here would have survived that, but you did with a combination of sheer luck, wit, and strength. You’re the kind of person we need here.”

  “I have no military credentials,” Ryker said flatly.

  “My boy, some of the soldiers here were librarians before they were hunted down. They became fine soldiers for this community. What makes you think we need military credentials?” Leopold said with a laugh. “You’re valuable because you were there; you’re valuable because you know what it’s truly like out there, while we from the underground merely rely on the hearsay of our contact.”

  “Who is he?” Ryker asked. “How can he go undetected?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Leopold told him. “I’ve never seen or heard from him, ever. We aren’t the only ones in hiding, Ryker.” The boy was almost naïve at times, but it didn’t matter. The real world had turned him into a cynical and defensive person, and it was something that wouldn’t have happened if his parents had still been alive. He was no surrogate parent, but Leopold knew he could be the best guardian.

  Ryker nodded, barely smiling. He was nervous; he felt like he was running out of time to save Alexia from them. Whatever it was they were doing, Ryker knew it was harsher than ever before, especially now that Caledon knew of her skills—and Dr. Wallace, that bastard he wanted dead so badly. He was itching to know exactly where she was. Leopold had told him they were moving out in three days, and he was sending some of his best men with him, including Sarah’s father, who was colonel.

  He disliked having no direction in getting her back. This was no mere escape anymore; this was infiltration into heavily guarded territory—this was suicide, essentially. Ryker knew that despite the weaponry Alaska had amassed, it would still not be enough if they were bombarded by consecutive attacks. The military base was far off from where they were, but it would take them less than an hour to destroy the upper floors of the community, and Ryker didn’t want further losses of life. He had seen enough dead people, including werebeings, to last him a lifetime.

  A few soldiers passed by, and they saluted to Leopold and to him. It made Ryker uncomfortable.

  “You’ll get used to it, you know,” Leopold told him.

  “I have no political prowess or charm for this,” Ryker said, clearly annoyed. “Don’t turn me into some leader that I’m clearly not.”

  “You naturally are,” Leopold said. “Just like your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.”

  Ryker shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I want no part in this political power play.”

  “I don’t want to be president, Ryker,” Leopold told him. “I just want Caledon to step down without the need for excessive bloodshed. He’s done enough strife to a lot of people already.”

  Enough strife was an understatement. While the country seemed economically sound, the majority of the population was oppressed and living in fear; most especially when it came to their children. Leopold told him the country’s population was going to feel the effects of not wanting children, of having many of them aborted for fear of the werebeing registration, and of the possibility that they would never be able to see their offspring again.

  Yet his mother had accepted him as he was. Leopold said the manifestations of shifting only occurred after the child was a year old at least. He wondered if there were existing photographs of him as a werebear cub. The mere thought of his family loving him despite being born one, comforted him.

  “Who’s a good candidate for the presidency? An el
ection might lead the country to ruin,” Ryker said as he and Leopold walked away from the jets.

  “No one is, but every time someone is toppled down, or if someone leaves post, another person will be waiting for the opportunity, and that’s the time when everyone worries.”

  “What if not everyone will want him gone? There are only so many of us…”

  “We have more empathizers than you think we have. Almost every family I know has had a werebeing relative.”

  Ryker gave a mirthful laugh. “Caledon just might have one.”

  “You never know.”

  *

  Dr. Wallace was having a bad day. It had been two weeks since he had gotten Alexia back in his lab, but there were no consistent leads to his experiments. It was a simple enough thing, what he had wanted. It was to find out if Alexia was debilitating to werebeings so that Caledon could use her to control the entire werebeing population, rather than just serve as a steroid source or problem experiment, instead.

  He didn’t have many problems prodding Alexia to do his bidding. It seemed like she was still the same old, complacent child she had been before she was whisked away. Too bad Edith was no longer alive. Edith knew Alexia’s psyche, and her presence could have affected Alexia’s results into a more positive note.

  Dr. Bartholomew was supposed to be Edith’s protégé, but he wasn’t as brilliant as the deceased doctor. Too bad, he thought. He was jotting down notes on his pad when his phone rang. He shook his head and pressed the screen.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to call me when-” he stopped, hearing the urgency on the other line. “Kindly administer emergency measures,” he snapped, standing up quickly. Dr. Wallace walked out of his room and broke into a half-run, heading for the test subjects’ quarters. The moment he got there, he saw blood on the floor and on the bedsheets. A quick survey told him all he needed to know, and he couldn’t help but curse under his breath before he snapped at the team in front of him.