Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1)

by M. A. Phipps

  Now all I can see is his face, bloodied and beaten rather than smiling and happy. Now, instead of his warm words instructing me, all I hear is that final moment and the words that have haunted me for years.

  “I’m sorry, Wynter.”

  Tears stream down my cheeks. I hit the notes firmly, feeling each one.

  “Wynter,” a familiar voice calls out to me.

  The stench of blood fills my nose. The wetness tickles my lips before splashing onto the keys. The sound rings in my ears.

  “Wynter—” the voice says again. A hand reaches out and touches my shoulder.

  It’s just like back then. Just like the hands that pulled me away from him.

  A terrible pressure builds up both within and around me. I spin on my heels, concentrating all of that power on the source of the voice.

  I don’t want to leave.

  I don’t want it to take me away from Father.

  Not again.

  The mirrored wall shatters where Ezra’s body collides with the glass. The crystal chandelier shakes unsteadily but stays in place, while the rest of the tiled interior bursts into tiny fragments, showering down on us like rain.

  I lift my gaze, ready to unleash my power again if necessary. I can feel it rushing through my body, overwhelming my every nerve and controlling me like a puppet master controls its puppet.

  He looks up at me, but something about his frightened expression holds me back. For some reason, a strange uncertainty rises up in the back of my brain, staying my hand.

  I can’t make any sense of it. He doesn’t move to attack me. In fact, he doesn’t do anything at all. He simply stares at me, his hazel eyes piercing straight through my possessed soul.

  All at once, he no longer matters. My head snaps to the side, ignoring him as alarm bells toll in my ears. A hostile force is heading for me.

  I can feel it.

  I hear the heavy footfalls before they enter the room, and I turn just in time to see at least a dozen Enforcers file into the office. They come bearing heavy artillery—all of which are pointed directly at me.

  I act before they can even pull the triggers. I focus on the guns, using the force building within me to rip the weapons from their hands. My mind does the rest, turning them back on their owners.

  I don’t hesitate like they did.

  Bullet casings fly through the air. The ammunition perforates the glass shelves, destroying the rare objects and books.

  Blood spatters the white carpet. I can feel it staining my skin as well, adding to what’s already flowing freely from my nose, eyes, ears, and mouth. My lungs feel ready to burst as I drag in ragged inhalations, the pressure consuming me the entire time. It’s only when the shooting ceases that I can finally catch my breath.

  The guns drop to the floor, hitting the blood-soaked carpet with a loud thud. Once I’ve released them, I feel the pressure drift away, returning me to myself.

  A moment later, I notice a familiar warmth gently press up beside me.

  “Wynter,” Ezra whispers in my ear.

  My movements are nearly lifeless as I turn to face him, my entire body rigid with shock. His eyes flick to mine, but I can sense that something isn’t right.

  I follow his terrified gaze, ignoring the apprehensive feeling stirring in my gut. Bile rises in my throat when I see what he's looking at.

  The mutilated bodies lay piled in a bloody heap—surrounded by weapons, empty casings, and destroyed fragments of the world I was momentarily lost in.

  “What have I done?” I gasp.

  He doesn’t answer me.

  I stare in horror at the massacre before us, all too aware that I am the one responsible for it. Me. I killed those people.

  Me . . .

  I killed them.

  My fingers comb through my hair, gripping tightly as I try to breathe through the screams lodged in my throat.

  What have I done? I ask myself over and over again.

  What have I done?

  A glint of light reflects off the broken glass, catching my attention. My hand shaking, I reach down and grab a small shard of the mirror off the floor. When I lift it, I barely even recognize the person I see in its surface. No, not a person. A creature.

  A monster.

  Because she isn’t a person.

  Not anymore.

  My eyes are almost completely black, a dark abyss except for two slivers of white on both sides. My usually alabaster skin is pale—gray even. Sickly. The color is contrasted sharply by the red streaks covering my face. By the blood, seeping from every possible opening and making me seem more dead than alive.

  I choke back a sob. Ezra stays beside me, providing the sanity that prevents me from slipping as I nearly crumble into madness. I’m amazed that he hasn’t left me—hasn’t run screaming from the horrific abomination I’ve become.

  I try to hide my face, but his warm hand grazes my chin, preventing me from doing so. My eyes glance up at him, and the expression I find there is unexpected.

  He moves toward me. I can feel fresh tears burning my already bleeding eyes, and I gasp against the oncoming cries racking my lungs, wanting nothing more than to run away from this.

  Ezra pulls me close to him, and I slump against his shoulder, closing my eyes in a last ditch attempt to escape this nightmare. Yet, in spite of this momentary comfort, reality seems intent on dragging me away. My eyes reopen at once.

  I can sense someone else here.

  When I look up, my entire body tenses, and my heart stops when I see the cold eyes staring back at me.

  “Hello again, Wynter,” Dr. Richter says with a smile.

  SEEING HIM IS ALL IT takes to tip me over the edge. The menacing hand of fear clutches tightly at my throat, suffocating me until I can no longer breathe.

  I try to close my eyes and force myself to wake up from what has to be a nightmare. But I can’t move, let alone blink, and as the seconds tick by, I begrudgingly come to terms with the reality that he’s here.

  He stares down at us with that all too familiar sinister smile, his gaze emotionless and dead, just like the slew of bodies on the floor. He doesn’t bat an eye at the corpses. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to notice them.

  That alone makes him more frightening to me than he ever was before.

  “Austin,” I hear Ezra breathe almost inaudibly.

  Finally taking control of my body, I tear myself away and glance over at Ezra. The pain in his eyes reminds me that I’m not the only one this reunion is hard for. Bracing myself, I force my gaze back over at Dr. Richter. His eerie smile is now gone, twisted instead into a heated expression of malice. The way he glares at his brother sets every nerve in my body on fire, dragging me down into a dark pit of despair.

  I swallow, feeling the fear as it washes over my entire being, drowning me in a heavy wave that seems to pin me to the floor. I was right.

  We should never have come here.

  “Ezra,” Dr. Richter growls through clenched teeth.

  A chill descends around me in response to the tension flooding the room, causing goosebumps to rise up along every inch of my skin. The trepidation is like ice, freezing me in place and preventing me from lifting a single muscle. I can’t even form a coherent thought. I’m too consumed by the apprehension of what his presence here must mean.

  For me.

  For Ezra.

  The minimal warmth that still remains seems to vanish the instant Ezra shifts away from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him rise to his feet, his every movement steady and controlled. Cautious. The entire time his gaze remains locked on Dr. Richter. Without breaking eye contact with him, he bends over and wraps his arm around my waist, carefully lifting me up so that I’m standing beside him. He keeps his hand latched to my hip, holding me close to him and providing the continued support I so desperately need at this moment.

  For a long while after, no one says anything. The two brothers simply stare at each other, the emotions hanging between them so intense I
can practically touch them.

  I stand by in silence, feeling like an unwelcome spectator. Dr. Richter’s presence here is unnerving for everyone involved, and yet, I can’t fully understand it. He couldn’t have possibly known I’d be here. So, does that mean he came to see his brother and this trap was intended to reunite them? It would make sense based on what happened at the DSD.

  Still, something doesn’t seem right.

  He turns away from us, glancing instead at the bodies sprawled across the floor. His eyes appraise them for a moment before he nods his head with a sickening approval. When he shifts his attention back toward the living, it’s me that he turns to.

  “You made short work of those Enforcers,” he comments. “You’re progressing much more quickly than I had anticipated.”

  My eyes widen, but I keep my emotions at bay. After all, I suspected this from the moment I saw my file. And now? Now, I know those suspicions were right on track.

  “What do you mean?” Ezra mutters warily.

  He looks over at me for answers, but I try my best to ignore him, focusing instead on Dr. Richter.

  “You knew this would happen,” I growl. “You knew this power would develop into more than just visions.”

  The part that frightens me most about what I did to those Enforcers—the part that I can’t fathom despite the impossible nature of this condition—is how I didn’t even have to lift a finger. I did it all with my mind. I wanted to kill them and I did, simple as that.

  The corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. “You’ve seen your file,” he sneers. “You should know by now that you’re not the only one we’ve tested on.”

  My lips part as the realization hits me at once. All of those other files he showed me . . .

  All those people . . .

  “Your visions aren’t the only reason the State wishes to use you. It’s what you are becoming that is of far more interest to us.” He begins to move forward, his shoes making a grotesque slapping noise against the blood-soaked carpet. “It’s fate, really,” he breathes. “Even your initials seem to agree. Wynter Arabelle Reeves. W . . . A . . . R . . . . It’s like you were destined to become the weapon that would allow us to conquer the world.”

  “Why would you choose to wage war when you have your own problems here?” I ask.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me, clearly not understanding my question. It’s only when I glance between him and Ezra that he finally grasps the meaning behind my words.

  “You mean PHOENIX?” he scoffs. He laughs once before shaking his head. “They were never a problem.”

  I feel Ezra tense beside me. Peering down, I see his hands ball into fists, but regardless, he says nothing. Dr. Richter glances over at us as he steps over the mangled bodies, and I can tell by his expression that he’s finding enjoyment in Ezra’s confusion. Taking advantage of his brother’s silence, he plunges the mental knife even farther.

  “PHOENIX was more of a menace to begin with, but now you’ve all actually become quite useful. What better way to subjugate the public than to frighten them with the constant threat of terrorism and death? It was the perfect starting point. We could’ve easily disposed of you at any time.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Keeping you around just happened to work better for us.”

  A heavy knot forms in my stomach, pulled tighter by the horrifying implication of what he’s saying. I can’t help but wonder how much of it is true. Maybe he’s only saying it for effect. I prefer that to the idea of the State having that sort of power.

  I shake my head. My powers. PHOENIX. What we’ve learned in the past few moments still doesn’t answer any questions. Clearly, this is a trap, but why is he really here?

  Why are we here?

  “Why go through the trouble to bait them if the idea wasn’t to trap PHOENIX?”

  “I’m not after PHOENIX,” he answers. “At least not all of them.”

  “Rai . . .” Ezra whispers.

  Of course. I should’ve seen this coming. I know enough of their history together—and of Dr. Richter’s personality—to know that he wouldn’t simply forget her betrayal.

  Or forgive it.

  True fear begins to rain down on me. Not for Ezra or for myself, but for her. Where is Rai at this very moment? Is she okay?

  Is she alive?

  My eyes snap up when Dr. Richter continues.

  “Regardless of my personal reasons, I’m actually here to retrieve you, Wynter.”

  “You couldn’t have possibly known she’d be here,” Ezra murmurs.

  I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

  Dr. Richter flashes that familiar unnerving smile.

  “Didn’t I, though?” he purrs. “I knew you couldn’t resist the opportunity to use her power. After all, we come from the same stock, Brother. Despite how greatly we might both wish to deny it.”

  I don’t look at Ezra. I can sense his emotions without having to see his face.

  As for myself, I wondered it from the moment Jenner mentioned it back in the tunnels. Before then even, when he agreed to it in the first place. Why did Ezra bring me here? I can’t blame him if it did have something to do with my ability, since I was the one who offered it up freely. Still, I can’t help but feel anxious about it. Or maybe, I just don’t like the comparison Dr. Richter is making between them.

  “What now then?” I ask. “You bring me back to the DSD?”

  “Unfortunately, you killed all of the Enforcers that I enlisted to detain you,” he says with a small, exasperated sigh. “No matter,” he adds. “I’ve just called for more, and they’ll be along shortly.”

  I shrink away from him, grimacing at the very thought of going back to that hellhole. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll go with you willingly.”

  “If you wish to leave, that’s your choice.” He shrugs again, seemingly unconcerned. “Just know that you will be forced to come back, one way or another. If I were you, though, I’d do it sooner rather than later. That power of yours won’t control itself.”

  My eyes widen. Control. How much does he know about control, or my lack thereof?

  Ezra, who has remained silent for the past few moments, abruptly moves his body so he’s standing in front of me. His eyes bear down into mine with an urgency burning behind them that I can’t quite make sense of. He lowers his gaze, and I follow it to see him gripping the communicator in his hand.

  “We have to go,” he mutters. “The others have sighted Enforcers, and if we don’t leave now, we’ll miss our window.”

  I nod in agreement. I don’t plan to stick around. Not if the end result is that I’ll wind up back at the DSD.

  He tightens his arm around my waist, helping me limp forward in my current debilitated state. All the while, Dr. Richter watches us with those ominous stone-cold eyes. But he does nothing to stop us or prevent our escape.

  I glance at him suspiciously as we make our way toward the door. Just as I allow myself to believe he’s actually letting us go, his voice calls out to me, dragging me back with the temptation behind it.

  “There’s a cure.”

  I stop in my tracks, and against my better instincts, I turn back to face him. I narrow my eyes, not quite sure if I actually heard him correctly.

  After a few seconds, he nods his head. “Your condition is progressing far too quickly,” he warns. “Without proper treatment, it will only worsen, and we all know where that will leave you. Don’t we, Brother?”

  I feel Ezra tug against me, urging me to keep moving. However, the weight of Dr. Richter’s words holds me in place.

  Where will this condition leave me? To Ezra and his brother, they’re thinking only of the death of their mother and of the same end which they anticipate happening to me. But I’m not concerned with my death. It’s the death of those I care about. The subsequent fatalities I will cause if my condition does continue to worsen.

  The very fear of that future is enough to cause it to spring back into my thoughts. I see the end of the world. The d
estruction. The horrible emptiness that will overtake everything.

  I see Ezra.

  How many people will I kill? How many lives will I take because of this damn disease?

  A cure . . .

  A cure would take all of that away.

  “He’s lying, Wynter.” Ezra pulls at my waist, gently tugging me forward. “We have to go,” he reminds me.

  I take a few steps, but my eyes linger on Dr. Richter. A part of me strongly agrees that his promise of a cure is definitely a lie. After all, he’d say anything to get me to go with him back to the DSD. He’d do anything to use me for the State’s personal gain.

  But what if he isn’t lying?

  What if there really is a cure?

  “If you come back to the DSD willingly, I will ensure that you get the cure before it’s too late,” he assures me.

  Too late? When will it be too late? And how long would he allow it to progress before administering this so-called cure? How long would he continue to use me before my body would be so ravaged that a cure wouldn’t even help me?

  I’m somewhat unnerved by his lack of detail, especially given the fact he never once mentioned this before. But I also can’t ignore the possibility of preventing what I know will eventually happen. Because the reality is . . . I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I’m becoming. I’m afraid of hurting the people I now consider my friends.

  Unable to make this decision, I allow Ezra to haul me from the room. Our footsteps fumble over the threshold.

  As we make our way down the extensive corridor, I hear Dr. Richter’s voice echoing after us.

  “Think about it, Wynter. You know where to find me.”

  IN. OUT. IN. OUT. MY breaths escape me in rapid succession, my lungs ravaged from overuse. The quick bursts of air have dried my throat, leaving it scorching and parched. There’s no time to rest—no time to hydrate myself and ease the persistent ache overwhelming my body. As it suffocates me, it also bears down on my heart, which now threatens to stop beating.

  Ezra’s arm latches even tighter around my waist, and I can hear his strained breaths as he supports my weight on top of his own. I try to help him, but I’m tired and weak. The aftereffects of my vision are still lingering in full force, crippling my every muscle until he’s practically dragging me alongside him. In spite of that, he never yells at me to keep moving—never even seems to consider just leaving me behind. He simply carries on as if it’s the only thing he can do.