Type X

by M. A. Phipps

  Unfortunately, lying isn’t an option either. Nolan will never respond to my questions if I’m not upfront with his. Plus, he seems too smart for that. He’ll see through any attempt at deception.

  I’m left with one choice.

  “Ezra told me I did it to protect everyone.” My voice sounds weak as the words pass through my lips.

  “You don’t remember?”

  My entire body tenses in response to his baiting tone.

  “I remember I had a good reason,” I bite back. “Good enough to do what I’ve done.”

  All the battles. All the people I’ve killed. As I told Ezra, I did what I had to do. I’ve committed atrocities I will never be able to forget, and I will live with those deaths for the rest of my life. However long that may be.

  That’s also why I became what I am now—what I had to be. I became inhuman so I could live with my crimes. So I could push away the guilt that would otherwise undo me.

  “So, you admit to being dangerous.”

  Nolan’s voice cuts through the darkness of my thoughts, reminding me of the conversation I witnessed between him and Ezra.

  “I’ll do what has to be done . . . even if she is Freston Reeves’ daughter.”

  I remember the threat with perfect clarity.

  “I never said that I wasn’t,” I mutter.

  Silence rises between us, and as it does, I study his face. I find myself wondering if he’s afraid of me—if he even has the capacity to feel fear and concern, or if he just fakes those emotions when the situation calls for it. A man who wears a mask and disguises his intentions well.

  Just like Dr. Richter.

  “You must understand, I’m responsible for the lives of many people. I need to be certain that you won’t pose a risk to them.” The mask remains in place.

  His whole façade irritates me because I can sense the indirect warning behind it. I never sought their intervention. I never asked for them to extract me that day from the helicopter.

  I never asked for any of this.

  My anger boils up, spitting out through my teeth. “If I’m so dangerous, then why are you keeping me here?”

  “When Ezra first brought you to us, we didn’t fully understand the true gravity of the situation. Or your importance,” he adds after a short pause. “When you returned to the DSD, and we got word of what they were planning . . . Well, we knew it was paramount that we get you back.”

  “Why? With the State turning their attention elsewhere, your lives would’ve gotten easier.”

  A mischievous grin pulls at the corners of his lips. “You don’t know, do you?”

  My annoyance continues to grow, expanding beneath my skin until I can no longer take it.

  “Know what?” I growl.

  “What the DSD was really planning to do with you.”

  I reel back as his words seem to collide with my chest, knocking the air from my lungs in a strangled breath. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Nolan releases a taunting huff of laughter. “Do you think we would’ve waited two years to retrieve you if we gave a damn about their conquest for domination?”

  My heart begins to race as his voice plays through my head on an endless loop. The madness I always feel myself slipping toward reaches out for the first time in days, grabbing hold of my brain and yanking me toward the edge of my own mental precipice.

  What could the DSD possibly have planned for me that’s any worse than what they were already doing? This is a lie, surely.

  It has to be.

  “This is much bigger than you,” he continues. “Didn’t you ever wonder why they kept harvesting your blood?”

  My lips part as a small, inaudible gasp seeps from between them. Just how much does Nolan know about me—about my time at the DSD?

  An uneasy shudder runs up my spine. “Richter wanted to study it,” is all I can manage to say.

  “Ah, yes. Austin Richter,” he scoffs. “Not exactly known for his honesty, is he?”

  My heart seizes as if a hand has just taken hold of it, squeezing my only lifeline into pulp. A scream of deranged lunacy rises in my throat. If I wasn’t trying to maintain my composure, I’d break these shackles and start ripping out my hair.

  In a trembling breath, I whisper, “What do you want with me?”

  “Simple.” His head tilts forward, casting a shadow over his eyes. “I desire your help.”

  All at once, I grasp why I’m really here. Like the last piece of a puzzle slotting into place, the ends in my mind connect, and I see the bigger picture.

  I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.

  “You want to use me against the State.”

  A venomous smile forms along his lips, and for a moment, I witness the real face behind the mask.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” he purrs. “We won’t have to.”

  I’m taken aback by his words and the malicious tone lingering behind them. I never thought I would encounter anything worse than the DSD or Dr. Richter.

  How quickly I’m beginning to suspect that I may be wrong.

  “Ezra told me about your condition. Well, what little he knew of it at least. The rest we learned from what our informant was able to garner from the records he had access to.”

  “I’m assuming this is the same informant who helped you extract me.”

  Nolan’s eyes glow with amusement. Breaking my gaze, he rises from his seat. I watch his every movement with careful observation, and my stomach twists with apprehension when he retreats toward the door.

  He places his hand against the metal before turning to look back at me.

  His voice echoes in an eerie cloud through the room. “You say you have difficulty remembering what happened before you left us. Maybe meeting him will help those memories to resurface.”

  His fingers curl into a fist and bang twice against the steel. The sound reverberates around me as the door creaks open. Deep breaths fill my lungs as I brace myself.

  However, nothing could’ve ever prepared me for this.

  My eyes widen as I register the face of the man standing in front of me. His broad frame fills the doorway, casting a shadow of intimidation across the room. The fluorescent light reflects off his hair, making the peppered gray strands stand out amidst the black. His forehead shines where the glare hits the skin just below his receding hairline.

  “Wynter.” Nolan’s voice enters my ears. “This is—”

  “Wren Bilken,” I breathe.

  I’m only vaguely aware of Nolan’s response because I’m too consumed by the inexplicable memory exploding inside my brain.

  A chain reaction follows. The whisper of his name sets the gears in motion, causing my thoughts to go into overdrive and bombard me with a number of images. They dart through my head in quick succession, forcing me to remember.

  I see the compound Ezra spoke of as well as the tunnel system spanning beneath the Heart. Beams of light flash along rounded walls, and the sound of waterlogged steps bounce off every surface, echoing through the passage like torrential rain. The physical recollection takes hold of me, bringing me back to that moment.

  I see Ezra and Jenner.

  I even see myself.

  As the images race past, I also see the Magistrate’s Building, along with the string of events that transpired there that night. I remember all of it. Every detail. Every moment.

  Above all, I remember Rai.

  The memory weighs heavily on my heart, threatening to crush me. My lungs contract until it feels like I can’t breathe, and my eyes begin to burn as if hot pokers are stabbing into them—a much deserved punishment for forgetting her.

  I try to move.

  I try to breathe.

  I try to think.

  But I can’t.

  All I can see is Rai, hovering over me like a ghost.

  Throughout my descent into madness, Nolan prattles on in the background. His words are muffled—a mere fog of sound that I’m deaf to.

 
Once the memories cease their relentless re-enactment, I’m able to focus on my surroundings. Lifting my eyes, I fix my gaze on Bilken. His expression is drawn and void of emotion.

  For that, I hate him even more.

  “She’s dead because of you.” I spit out the words between clenched teeth, straining my jaw in an effort to maintain my composure.

  My body trembles as the battle raging inside of me claws its way to the surface, struggling to break free with every racing beat of my heart. Loathing pumps through my veins, feeding the internal conflict.

  Nolan’s voice dissipates the instant I speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his fingers splay out, and taking a hesitant step forward, he raises his hands. The gesture is slow and guarded as if he hopes it will calm me down.

  It has the opposite effect.

  “Wynter . . . .”

  I ignore him, keeping my eyes locked on Bilken, who finally decides to enter the conversation. His words fully break my already damaged heart.

  “I assume you’re referring to Raina Dorne.”

  My hands grip the arms of the metal chair. “Don’t you dare say her name.” The animal locked within me thrashes in a wild fit, desperate to rip out this man’s throat with her bare teeth.

  Bilken steps into the room, but keeps his distance, leaving a wide berth between us. As I watch him, my rage builds until I can barely retain my hold on it. My control slackens further when I glimpse his face. Of all the expressions he could display at this moment, the one he chooses to wear is boredom.

  “I believe your anger is misdirected,” he drawls.

  Everything I’ve been suppressing—not only my memories but the many emotions I’ve buried over the years—now comes to a head. Like stacking one object on top of another, the bottom of the pile can no longer bear the weight, causing everything to tumble down in a landslide of self-destruction.

  I’ve subdued the anger, guilt, and regret for so long, and now they all rush out at once, hitting me full force.

  “You were the one who set that trap for us!” I cry. “The trap that got her killed!”

  The heat from my tears burns my cheeks like a trail of fire. Bilken stares back at me, but his stony expression gives nothing away of his own feelings. Or his intentions.

  Maybe because he doesn’t have any. Maybe he’s no different than Richter . . . or me. We’re all just puppets who have been taken in and drained by the State—robbed of the very essence that makes us human until we’re incapable of feeling anything that even resembles remorse.

  This is what the State does to the people who are loyal to it.

  “Yet, I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger,” he counters.

  My nostrils flare as my infuriation grows. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He looks at me with feigned surprise, and the distance between us shrinks as he takes another step forward. “I think the truth is that you’re angry with yourself. After all, you’ve spent the last two years completely submissive to the one person actually responsible for your friend’s death.”

  His callous statement pushes me over the edge. I no longer care about maintaining control or Nolan’s unspoken threat about what will happen if I don’t behave.

  I only care about making Bilken pay for what he’s done.

  Narrowing my eyes, I concentrate on his throat and muse over how it would feel to snap his neck. However, at the same exact instant the thought crosses my mind, I hear Rai’s voice. Speaking to me.

  Reminding me.

  “Everyone here has lost someone or something. That’s why we fight. So our losses don’t have to be for nothing.”

  Hesitation delays my wrath as every molecule in my body hones in on those words. Rai wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want me to become what they had all vowed to fight against.

  The trouble is that it’s too late for that. I’m already a monster. Already a murderer.

  What would Rai think if she could see me now?

  My indecision holds me back, but the emotions coursing through me are much harder to contain. A powerful pressure builds up in my chest, screaming to escape.

  Bilken peers down at me as a smirk crosses his face. It seems as if he wants me to attack him—to show them what I can do. Despite what he said before, I know Nolan wants that too. Or, at the very least, he has a good reason for risking it.

  Why else would he bring Bilken here?

  Why else would he dangle this insult in front of me?

  This is a test, I realize.

  Well, I refuse to give into them. I refuse to be a pawn just like I was for Dr. Richter.

  Making up my mind, I take the steps to suppress my anger, but with the emotions returning to the empty shell I used to be, it becomes clear even the collar can only do so much. This power wants to be seen, and I’m not sure there’s a damn thing anyone can do to stop it. Myself included.

  A small release of energy spills out of my body, trickling from my skin like sweat leaving my pores. Nolan’s voice tears through the silence as the walls and ceiling begin to crack.

  “Enough!” he shouts.

  The air catches in my lungs, and the distraction of his intervention helps to contain the feelings overwhelming me. Closing my eyes, I spend the next several seconds focusing only on my breathing. I count backward from ten, just as I have so many times in the past.

  “How odd,” Bilken grunts. “All the reports were quite adamant that you could control it.”

  My eyes flash open, settling back on his face as a menacing smile pinches the corners of my lips. “Oh, I am controlling it.” I lean forward in my seat until the shackles creak in protest. “Trust me, if I wasn’t, you would already be dead.”

  Nolan steps between us. Raising his arms, he presses his palm against Bilken’s chest. “That’s enough for now,” he warns. “You’d better step outside before things get out of hand.”

  With a condescending nod of his head, Bilken turns to leave without speaking a single word. He passes through the open doorway, and I watch his fingers grip the steel slab, pulling it closed behind him. Just before the metal locks back into place, he glances over his shoulder to meet my gaze.

  That one look is almost enough to provoke me.

  Swallowing my pride, I turn my attention toward Nolan as he returns to the seat in front of me. The rage detonates from my lungs before he even has the chance to sit.

  “Why is he here?” I scream. “PHOENIX . . . you’re supposed to be the good guys, aren’t you? So, what are you doing joining up with someone like him?”

  As those words leave my mouth, I hear a voice—somewhere in the recesses of my distorted memories—spewing a similar sentiment. I hear myself trying to convince someone that Bilken can’t be trusted.

  As the recollection finds form, I realize this happened prior to the night Rai died.

  A huff of exasperation spills from my lips. None of this makes sense. Why would Bilken turn against the State?

  What could he possibly gain from such betrayal?

  “I understand how confusing this must be for you,” Nolan murmurs. “Not to mention distressing. If you must know, it was never Wren’s intention for anyone to die that day. Rai was . . . an unfortunate casualty.”

  An unfortunate casualty?

  I inhale a deep breath to stop myself from laughing. “So, what were his intentions?” I ask in a sour voice.

  Nolan reclines in his chair. Tilting his chin, he stares at me for a long, drawn-out moment before answering.

  “To leave a clue. Something that would express his wish to join PHOENIX. He couldn’t contact us without being discovered, and my guess is that he knew he would only be desirable to our organization as an informant. He’s a good ally to have, but even his usefulness has its limits.”

  A breath of bewilderment climbs up my throat.

  Nolan crosses one leg over the other before continuing. “With that in mind, he proposed a plan to the State. He would act as the contact needed to set up a
trap to lure in PHOENIX. And in turn, you. He knew Richter would never seek to harm his prized subject and figured, worst case scenario, you would just be taken back to the DSD if things went downhill, which turned out to be an inevitability anyway.”

  After everything that happened that night, he expects me to believe Bilken’s offer for aid was genuine? I’m not sure I buy it, especially since we never found any evidence to suggest what he’s saying is true.

  “Did you know about this?” I whisper. “Or did you think it was a trap?”

  “I was acquainted with Wren back in the pre-State days. When the world changed, and I made the choice to move underground, I told him all he had to do was say so if he ever decided he wanted to help us.” His eyes seem to glisten with the memory.

  “The trouble was, he couldn’t send us a direct message. If he tried, the transmission would’ve been tracked back to both of us, and I’m sure you know what the result of that would’ve been.”

  As he cocks an eyebrow at me, I grasp the implication behind his words.

  “Execution,” I breathe.

  Clearing his throat, he carries on. “So, he put it out there in a place he thought PHOENIX might be watching. We keep a firm eye on Enforcer unit rotations to make our movements throughout the Heart easier. They don’t tend to monitor the tunnel system, but better safe than sorry.” Shaking his head, he lets out a quiet laugh. “He attached the message right in the middle of their weekly schedule. Kind of hard to miss, don’t you think? Anyway, that was his way of telling me he was ready to do things my way. With his position in the State and the information he had access to, I wasn’t willing to refuse that offer.”

  “So, you sent us there, knowing the risk.”

  A flash of anger burns in his eyes. “It was the only way to know for sure and to make the initial move to set up communication the State couldn’t track.” Taking a deep breath, he adds in a calmer voice, “Rai’s death made that part harder but not impossible.”

  My body tenses at the mention of Rai. The sound of her name on his tongue is vile as if the mere whisper of it is taboo in some way. A shudder runs along my spine, but I try to ignore it, telling myself to concentrate on determining the truth.