Type X

by M. A. Phipps

  For some reason, I’m interested to know what became of the young Enforcer. I don’t see him here, so unless he was relocated, there’s an infinitesimal chance he didn’t survive the previous battle. I find that unlikely since their involvement has been limited. Still, a part of me is tempted to search for him—to find out if he’s alive. Although I’d be lying if I said I cared one way or another. This is nothing more than a selfish curiosity. A desire to know if there’s even an ounce of humanity left within me.

  I don’t bother to find out.

  The roaring winds die away when the helicopter touches down on the ground. With a taunting whir, the rotors slow to a halt as the loading ramp lowers to welcome our invasion. Another place we’ll soon desecrate, just like the others.

  I wait until the cargo hold has emptied before unstrapping my harness. Rising to my feet, I concentrate my thoughts on a point in the back of my mind, going through the familiar routine of distancing myself from the world around me. It’s the only way to do what has to be done. The only way to cope.

  My footsteps echo off the metal flooring. An invisible weight presses down on my shoulders, the burden of it overtaking me as I descend the ramp and approach the unavoidable sea of faces. I keep my gaze locked ahead in a futile attempt to ignore them, shutting everything out as much as possible.

  With each step I take, the uneasiness I felt before creeps back to the surface, weaving its way through every inch of my body. It poisons me with an apprehension that’s incompatible with my unfeeling nature, and yet, its parasitic latch only strengthens its hold, drawing us together like a pair of magnets. My aversion brings me closer to the very thing I’m dreading.

  I inhale multiple deep breaths as my feet carry me off the ramp. The air is charged with a strange tension—something I’ve never felt on any of my previous missions. Looking around, I try to find the source of it, but nothing appears to be out of place. At least, not that I notice.

  All I can see is the endless blanket of faces.

  A movement to my left alerts me to the senior Enforcer stepping out from the crowd. His voice distracts me, drawing my attention.

  “Your transport is ready—”

  I cut him off with a glowering look. “I’ll walk.”

  His petrified hesitation casts a stone-like coating across his eyes, and he immediately shrinks back when he hears me speak. Perhaps because the Enforcers have become accustomed to only expecting my silence and submission.

  Do they honestly think I’m incapable of something as normal as speaking? That I’m unable to stand up to them? It’s as if they don’t believe that I’m physically able to. It’s like they’ve forgotten I’m human, I realize.

  I brush past him, moving toward the sound of explosions in the distance where the State has already begun the preliminary attack. The weight on my shoulders continues to bear down on me, and a weird, anxious feeling burns in my chest like a budding fire. I can’t make sense of either sensation.

  Why is my body reacting this way when I’ve been through this exact ordeal so many times before? Why is this battle any different?

  A soft beep in my right ear rips me away from my confused thoughts. A grunt of exasperation tears from my lungs as I lift my finger to the button on the communicator.

  “The transport is there for a reason.” There’s an undertone of irritation in Dr. Richter’s voice. The owner scolding his disobedient pet.

  “You’ve never minded before,” I answer.

  The silence that settles between us is somewhat foreboding, but I lack the will to care. In fact, I’m far more interested in the sound of crunching gravel beneath my feet. I raise my hand to disconnect the call when his voice comes back over the signal.

  “Remember why you’re there.” The threat behind his words is apparent in each pronounced syllable.

  My jaw clenches, holding back the anger that sets on my tongue. In a fit of rage, I press the small button on the communicator and rip the device from my ear, gripping it between my fingers. Without a single damn in the world, I drop it to the ground.

  A smile curls my lips when I hear the plastic hit the dirt. I form a mental image of the abandoned earpiece, and as I do, the idea of Dr. Richter’s wrath doesn’t even faze me. I’ll be punished, no doubt. Horrifically, too. Still, when the thought crosses my mind, I feel nothing.

  Not dread.

  Not fear.

  After everything I’ve seen and done, I don’t think I even recognize those emotions anymore.

  My ears prick up at the increasing sound of detonations, and my eyes lift to the sky when a drone flies overhead. It seems to coincide with the swelling disquiet sitting in my gut like a cancerous tumor. Nevertheless, I keep walking.

  Death hangs like a fog, its presence almost tangible in the molecules around me. In truth, I’m envious of its victims. Death would be an escape from this repetitive war and the nightmare that’s become my every waking moment.

  Death would allow me to escape Dr. Richter.

  Too bad he would never allow it. Past attempts have made that clear. Knowing I have to obey him is even worse than knowing I can never get away from him. No matter what he asks, I’m forced to do as he commands—to kill people. To destroy whole cities and watch them crumble to the ground.

  Raising my hand, I touch the collar around my neck.

  If I don’t do it, he’ll make me.

  The very notion consumes my mind to the point that I’ve walked right into the ongoing first wave of our invasion without registering the other drones or the deafening explosions. I fail to notice the rubble landing at my feet until I’m standing in the midst of it. Everything is muffled and distant as if I’m in a separate reality. As if I’m isolated.

  Alone.

  I walk in a daze, only vaguely aware of any passing movement. My eyes trail across the ground, taking in the sight of the blood-soaked dirt. The deep red glistens in the occasional streak of sunlight.

  The abrupt sound of cracking glass tempts me out of my stupor. My body freezes, and looking to my feet, I glimpse the broken fragments strewn across the ground. In them, I see my distorted likeness. Face, after face, after face. The cracked surfaces form a web, but through it, I’m able to catch sight of the unusual darkness in my eyes.

  A darkness I’ve never seen in them before this moment.

  All at once, I’m assaulted by a barrage of images. They spring to life, dragging me into their depths as if I’ve been pulled under by a violent wave.

  A vision.

  Memories . . .

  I’m unable to tell which of the two takes hold of me.

  First, I’m back in my quarters at the DSD, staring into the mirror above the sink. When I look at my reflection, the mirror shatters.

  Static distorts my surroundings, transporting me away from that tiny room. Suddenly, I’m standing in a shower cubicle. My fingers grip the wall. A grinding sound fills the air as the concrete and tiles rupture beneath my touch. The pipes hanging above me spew a rush of water onto my head.

  Static again.

  Finally, I find myself back in my dream—back amidst the blackness with the rain of mirrors falling around me.

  The images dash past as the seconds tick by, except for the final moment that suspends me in a brief illusion of timelessness. The shards float through the air, cascading like feathers as if to allow me the chance to see my face in each separate piece.

  Is this even me that I’m seeing? The woman staring back at me looks like me. Yet, at the same time, she’s different.

  Short mousy hair brushes the top of her shoulders. An obscene amount of blood stains the pale skin of her face. Above all, her eyes mark the greatest difference. Mine are green and blue while hers are opaque and black.

  Soulless like the monster I fear I’m becoming.

  Time speeds up, causing the fragments to fall to the ground in an ear-splitting heap. All but one lay motionless at my feet, and I fumble backward as it moves toward me. It rises into the air as if it’s w
eightless, the surface expanding until I’m looking at myself in a full-length mirror.

  My reflection and I stare at each other for what seems like an eternity until I find myself questioning which one of us is real. The madness I constantly feel myself slipping toward—one toe always dipped in its dark waters—calls out, beckoning to me through the hush. It takes on the voice of the man I heard before, haunting me with the familiarity the sound triggers within my heart.

  “Wynter,” it calls.

  The soundproof bubble surrounding me bursts, forcing me back into the only reality I know.

  My eyes scan the crowd of soldiers. The same expression covers each of their faces, and I realize they must know who I am. I suppose I expected it. With everything the State’s done, with everything I’ve done, it should come as no surprise that my reputation precedes me.

  They stand their ground with their weapons raised, ready to attempt what so many before them have failed to do.

  I wait for it.

  I hope for it.

  The sound of gunfire explodes throughout the city. Dust clouds the air, and I hear the faint tinkling of bullet shells as they litter the ground.

  I breathe in as the pressure rises up to take over.

  My feet push me forward, and I feel the outpouring of energy that acts as my barrier. Muffled cries of pain resonate behind the overpowering commotion. Bodies fall with a loud thud as they pile up before me.

  It’s over within seconds. Every part of me is still as I stare off into the nothingness, waiting for the murky air to clear. In the meantime, I consider what I’ve done, making sure to keep everything at a safe emotional and mental distance. I think about how fast it went, and how it was so easy.

  How it’s always so easy.

  A surprised breath catches in my throat when I hear a faint whimper. My defensive reactions kick back to life, but as I turn, I’m held in place by the sight of the soldier kneeling in the dirt.

  In many ways, he reminds me of that young Enforcer.

  Seizure-like tremors cross his hands, causing him to drop his weapon to the ground. His entire body shakes as he lifts his arms in surrender.

  “Please . . .” he mutters.

  A single tear slides along his dirtied cheek. As it does, the faint flicker of my humanity responds.

  The vision hits me like a flash of lightning, placing me in a new scene of destruction. Everything is ruined. There are no people. No lights. There’s only me.

  Me . . . and him.

  I scrutinize the man, trying to make sense of why he seems so familiar. I must know him. Otherwise, why would I be seeing this?

  The stranger meets my gaze, and an emotion I can’t comprehend in my inhuman state burns in his eyes. Something tells me I might not want to understand it.

  A few stray tears rush down his cheeks, and a single utterance expels from his lips a moment later.

  “I’m sorry, Wynter.”

  My heart clenches at the sound of his voice, but the scene around me reverts to the death-filled battleground before I have the chance to react. Blinking away the vision, I lock eyes with the soldier still cowering on the ground. His expression lights up with hope, but I can’t give him what he’s asking for. I can’t give him anything except the one service I was created to provide.

  “Please . . . .”

  In spite of my desire to spare him, I only hear the voice from my vision when he speaks. It beats through my head like a raging drum, haunting me.

  Taunting me.

  A flush of anger shoots through my body, and my head shakes in wild jerks as my hands dart to my hair. My fingernails dig into my scalp as if I’ll be able to make sense of my crumbling sanity by doing so. As if I’ll be able to manage my thoughts and end this madness, once and for all.

  Irregular, shallow breaths pour from my lungs as I peer into the eyes of the soldier at my feet. Except, it’s not him I’m seeing. It’s the man.

  I see his face.

  I hear his voice.

  My fingers grip my skull even harder, and the pressure climbs up my throat like vomit. The anger follows behind it until I can no longer hold what I’m feeling at bay.

  I stare at him, but there’s nothing I can do to stop my emotions from taking over. As I focus on his face, seeing only the man from my dream, I allow them to destroy what little humanity I have left.

  A strangled gasp parts my lips as I grit my teeth. “Get out of my head.”

  The soldier’s eyes widen in the exact moment I snap his neck.

  The door to my quarters slides open in a blur. I dart through the gap, flinching at the sound of the lock clicking back into place behind me.

  My breathing is heavy.

  Panicked.

  I try to focus on the room, but I’m blinded by hysteria. Similar to a wildfire sweeping across arid terrain, every nerve ending in my body screams, protesting the foreign sensation. Sweat bubbles from my pores, sucking the black bodysuit to my skin. My hair frizzes from the sudden extreme heat overwhelming me, and my lungs constrict until I can barely breathe. My heart races, hammering against my ribcage. Convulsions roll through my limbs as the sensory overload becomes too much to bear.

  It took everything I had to maintain composure on the journey back here, although, I doubt my performance was convincing in any way. Even Richter’s assistant seemed to sense that something was off—I could tell that by her unusual silence and the hurried manner in which she left me here. Her avoidance was for the best. I was and still am like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

  Now that I’m alone, I can no longer contain the crippling frenzy that overtakes me.

  My hands press against my mouth, muffling my screams. Paranoia and frustration rip through every part of me as my mental faculties unhinge, piece by piece, threatening to abandon the humanity I’m always so close to losing.

  Aware of my surroundings, I peek over my shoulder at the security camera in the corner. The red light on the side blinks every few seconds, watching me as usual.

  A violent spasm runs through my hands, and as I look at my shaking fingers, it becomes clear that I won’t be able to hide this. Dr. Richter will find out. He’ll know.

  He probably already knows.

  Another flash of heat swallows my body, turning my stomach. Throwing myself forward, I clutch the sink and turn the tap until the welcome mist of water pummels my face. In spite of its cool touch, the heat remains—consuming me in the same way as the budding madness consumes my sanity.

  What is this feeling? I wonder.

  What’s happening to me?

  My eyes lift to the mirror, and for a fleeting moment, I’m surprised to see that the glass is still intact. Trailing my gaze along its unbroken edges, I come face-to-face with the woman in its reflection. That peculiar captivation I felt before now seems magnified, drawing us together.

  Seconds turn into minutes, but no matter how long I stare at her, I can’t find the similarities between us. I only see a stranger. An imposter who wears the same face I do.

  Her lips curl at the corners. An unexpected sense of alarm fights its way through my brain, coming to the forefront of my mind the instant her deranged expression fills my field of vision. My body leans toward the mirror as I examine her face, wondering what she could possibly know that I don’t.

  As if in response to my unspoken question, a familiar image flashes once through my thoughts. I see the man from my dream again. From my vision.

  From what I’m beginning to suspect may actually be a memory.

  It’s the same as it was before—the two of us standing alone together amidst destruction and ruin as the world collapses into chaos. Tears coat his dirt-stained cheeks. His lips whisper my name.

  “Wynter,” he breathes.

  Static. The picture contorts, springing back in front of me a few seconds later. Everything is the same, except the distance between us is smaller now.

  Static again.

  Closer.

  Static
again.

  Closer.

  “Wynter . . .”

  I try to take a step back, but my body has gone rigid. A shiver crosses my skin as my heart pounds in double time, suffocating me with its merciless repetition.

  My eyes fix on the man’s face.

  Who are you? I want to ask him. Why do I keep seeing you?

  But no words escape my lips.

  “Wynter.”

  Closer.

  “Wynter.”

  Closer.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Pressing my hands over my ears, I shake my head in an effort to escape his voice.

  A weak plea dribbles from my lips. “Get out . . . get out . . .”

  “Wynter . . .” he breathes again.

  “Get out!”

  Somewhere in the very background of consciousness, I notice the door to my quarters fly open. The air catches in my lungs as the abrupt sound of it pulls me back to reality. Spasms rock my body despite my best attempts to keep still.

  I can sense him before he even speaks, just as I can feel the surge of anger as it flows through his veins, exploding from his throat in a fiery eruption.

  “What the hell happened?” Richter shouts at me.

  I don’t turn to face him. Instead, I reach out to the nearest wall for support, suddenly exhausted by the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  My voice is flat when I finally answer him. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

  His footsteps resound off the concrete floor—ominous stomps that carry the weight of my inevitable punishment along with them. His vile warmth presses up against my back, but I resist the urge to recoil from him.

  “The enemy has indeed been eradicated.” His words are an eerie purr in my ear, and the rage behind them grows more noticeable with every breath. “However, perhaps you could explain why you also slaughtered the Enforcers that were sent in after you.”

  Without thinking, I glance over my shoulder to face him. Disbelief takes hold of me, spreading through my entire being. The Enforcers are only sent in once I’ve done my job. They secure what I destroy—I never even cross paths with them except for our initial landing. So, surely I couldn’t have done what he claims.