by M. A. Phipps
“What was the clue?” I press.
“Your file,” he answers. “Well, more specifically, the military order he included with it.”
My file? What could that have possibly told them? I begin to protest, but Nolan cuts me off.
“State-issued computers are equipped with the highest form of security. Only someone truly gifted could hack their systems.”
Someone like Rai, you mean, I’m tempted to say to him.
His voice resounds in my ears, bringing a rush of doubt with it.
“Didn’t you find it odd that his computer wasn’t at least password protected?”
I consider him for a moment. Truthfully, none of this had even occurred to me until now. Then again, I wasn’t the one who accessed the computer that night. Ezra was.
Still, something doesn’t add up.
“Richter knew that was there,” I point out. “Besides, how would that have proven anything to PHOENIX?”
Nolan rolls his eyes.
“Richter overlooked one thing when he agreed to set that trap. Your doctor has an . . . interesting fascination with playing his best cards all at once. Because of that, he failed to see what Bilken hoped we would.”
“Which was what exactly?”
One corner of his lips twitch, the gloating smile fighting to break through.
“The fact that one simple piece of information in that order showed us how we can defeat the State,” he sneers.
I don’t understand. I read that order. In fact, I understood more of it than Ezra did. Everything the report detailed was about how I would be beneficial to the State—it made no mention of weaknesses. Even if it did, I doubt Dr. Richter would’ve missed something like that. He wouldn’t allow such important intel to fall into the enemy’s hands.
I shake my head in denial. “He’s smarter than you think he is. If there was something like that in there, I can guarantee he knows about it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” His tone is indifferent. “Either way, he agreed to Wren’s plan. As a result, he put the pieces in place that have allowed the tables to turn.”
Everything he’s said over the past few minutes coalesces in a jumbled knot in my head. It presses against the forefront of my brain, but no matter which way I view it, there’s still too much that doesn’t add up.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “How would he benefit from agreeing to that?”
Nolan shifts position, and for the first time, he looks at me with an expression of pity.
“It allowed him access to you, and gave him the opportunity to use the promise of a cure to lure you back. After all, that is why you left, isn’t it?”
My eyes widen.
The promise of a cure.
A cure . . .
“A cure is the only hope I have to stop this and to keep you all alive.”
I remember saying those words. I remember feeling them in the very core of my being and believing them to be true.
Suddenly, the one question that’s been haunting me resolves itself in a single breath. The answer falls at my feet as if surrendering to me.
I left because Dr. Richter promised me a cure, and because I was afraid that, if I didn’t, my condition would kill everyone I had come to care about.
Jenner.
Ezra.
My fingers flex, aching to touch my collar, but the shackles prevent me from moving. My entire body melts into the chair as a thick lump rises like bile in my throat. I can feel Richter’s lie there, choking me a little bit more with each breath. Knowing this isn’t even the first time I’ve learned this makes the sensation worse.
“You know,” Nolan croons, interrupting my thoughts, “you actually did us a favor by returning to the DSD.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap.
His fingertips press together as he forms a pyramid with his hands in front of his chest. A taunting smile plays on his lips. “Without you, the State has no way of anticipating attacks. They’ve spent a lot of time and energy disconnecting themselves from the rest of the world and have made a fair number of enemies who may wish to use that knowledge to their advantage. Enemies they wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you.”
Everything he’s been saying finally makes sense to me. Bilken’s defection. My file. The military order.
My extraction.
Everything has finally fallen into place.
“You want them to be attacked,” I realize. “That’s why you relocated Outside.” My jaw drops in horror as the words tear from my lungs.
I feel sick. The notion that I’m nothing more than a pawn—a playing piece being shuffled between two opposing sides—is enough to make me want to bury myself in a hole and never resurface. No matter what I do, no matter what steps I take to avoid it, I’m always playing right into somebody’s hand.
Playing the role I was destined for.
Why did I have to develop this disease? Why did this have to happen to me? I played by the rules. I always did what I was told. Yet, here I am—caught in the middle of a war I never asked for.
A war that can only end one way.
“Fear can oppress a population, but it can also turn that same populace against the hand that feeds it.” Nolan pauses for a moment, and as he does, his eyes darken. “The people will never answer to PHOENIX unless they see that the State can no longer protect them.”
“And you can?” I ask.
“We can offer them an alternative, and negotiate peace terms with those who wish to see the State eradicated.”
Peace? I wonder.
If only it was that easy.
“Is that PHOENIX’s goal, then? To lead?” An unwilling huff of laughter accompanies my words.
His eyes narrow. “I can see the judgment in your gaze, but PHOENIX is not the first, and it won’t be the last to seek power. We have ideals and hopes that we wish to see fulfilled, and we’re convinced our ability to lead far surpasses the State’s. Besides,” he says, “if you rise up against something, you have to be prepared to take its place.”
I admire his last sentiment. Or I would if I wasn’t convinced that it’s a front—another mask to conceal the reality I’m sure is far more menacing.
In a bid to see under that mask, I press him further. “If you wanted power, why didn’t you just take it? You have hundreds of sects in the Heart alone.”
His hands squeeze into fists as a sudden anger reddens his face. “Because, believe it or not, I don’t wish to lead through fear. If we seized control, we would be no better than the State. From what I know of history, regimes that oppress don’t last in the long run. They are always overthrown.” Suppressing his heated emotions, he adds, “This was the only way to get the people on our side.”
For the first time, I feel like I’m beginning to understand the inner workings of what I’m involved with. When all is said and done, only one question remains.
“I understand why you extracted me. With me gone, the State is vulnerable. I get that,” I breathe, staring back at him with every ounce of intimidation I can muster. “But why wait two years to put this plan in motion?”
A devilish smirk pulls at his lips. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me that.”
I say nothing as I wait for an answer I might never receive. Nolan deliberates for a moment before ending my torment.
“Watching the State make enemies was one thing, but hearing of how they would completely destroy them was another.” When he sees my blank expression, he says, “I don’t need to tell you how special you are. I wonder if Dr. Richter ever told you how special.”
“Stop being cryptic and cut to the chase,” I growl.
“Very well.” His smile broadens. “What do you know about your blood?”
My stomach twists as I’m brought back to my time at the DSD. I relive everything Dr. Richter ever said to me, especially concerning the unique blood pumping through my veins.
“It evolved,” I murmur. “It’s an entirely new blood ty
pe that Richter calls Type X. He said I’m the only person who has it and that it makes me one of a kind.”
Nolan nods his head in feverish repetition. “What he said is true. For now, at least.”
I reel back, bemused by his statement. He continues before I can press him about it.
“What would you say if I told you that your blood was being injected into other people with the same condition?”
The air rushes from my lungs in a crippling blow.
“What?” I gasp.
“They had already determined the genetic markers. Those lovely eyes of yours,” he explains in response to my confusion, pointing at my face.
Unfolding his hands, he brushes his palms along his thighs and rises from his seat in a fluid bolt-like movement. His posture is tall and domineering as he paces back and forth in front of me.
“When they found a way to keep you alive, you officially became the first of your kind. Richter believes infusing your blood into other Ultraxenopia candidates may help speed the evolution process along. He’s hoping it will bypass the incapacitating side-effects you experienced.”
The words seem like the description of a horrible nightmare I’m having.
Is what Nolan’s saying true? Is it even possible?
A part of me questions whether he’s making it up while another part knows he wouldn’t have knowledge of my blood at all—not unless it was true.
Here I thought this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Why would he do that?” I ask. It’s all I can manage.
Nolan snickers under his breath. “Why do you think?”
When I meet his gaze, he utters the very answer I was beginning to fear I’d hear.
“To create an army.”
“No,” I grunt. “Even he wouldn’t go that far.”
Nolan’s footsteps cease, and suddenly, I find him leaning over me. Placing his hands on the arms of my chair, he shifts forward until our faces are only a few inches apart.
“Wouldn’t he?” His left eyebrow cocks in amused disbelief. “This is a man who killed the woman he once claimed to love. I don’t think someone like that knows limits.”
He’s right. Richter doesn’t have limits. I don’t think that word even exists in his vocabulary.
Inhaling a slow, steadying breath, I try my best to remain calm. “So, you took me to stop that from happening?”
“Enforcers we can handle,” he says as he straightens up. “A thousand of you . . . probably not.”
The thought of others having this power unsettles me more than I care to admit. I’ve taken lives. While I’m not proud of that fact, as I told Ezra, it had to be done. Over the past two years, I’ve both loathed and embraced this disease, but I’ve found a way to live with the cards I’ve been dealt, and on some sick level, I’ve even enjoyed my invincibility. However, knowing I would be the cause of this curse in others is a terrible possibility I never prepared for. How will I ever live with myself if this becomes reality?
How could I doom others to this cruel existence?
“Did he succeed?” The words funnel into my ears as if they’ve been said by someone else.
“Not yet,” Nolan answers, “but we both know how persistent he is.”
He returns to his pacing while I try to organize the millions of questions rustling around in my skull. After a moment, I hear his voice break the agonizing silence, but the sound is clouded and somewhat distant. It takes an extreme amount of concentration to hear anything he says at all.
“You saw how unstoppable the State was with only one of you. Imagine the devastation if more were created.” Freezing in place, he looks down at me once more. “We had to do this.”
It took twenty-one years of my life to realize how abhorrent the State truly is. But PHOENIX?
It’s only taken me two.
What Nolan’s done—what PHOENIX has done—is nothing compared to what they intend to do. Even worse, what he’s aiming for is far more gruesome than he’s willing to accept.
“If you keep me here, the State will be attacked and many innocent people will die,” I say slowly.
For the briefest of moments, I expect Nolan to prove me wrong—to show me that he’s a decent, caring human who really is just hoping for a better world.
Until, I remember the mask. Until I remember the façade he’s been putting on since the moment we met.
“You’ve killed many innocent people yourself, have you not?”
I swallow. The guilt attempts to strangle me, but I force it away, unwilling to let him make this about me. What I’ve done is in the past. What matters now is what awaits us in the future.
“You won’t have a country to lead if everyone is dead. Mindless violence won’t bring about change.” The words escape my lips automatically, making me wonder if I’ve heard them somewhere before.
Nolan shakes his head in response. “I don’t wish for it to come to that, but this is the reality of war. One of the many downsides, if you will. All we can hope is that peace will be restored before too many have to suffer.”
Lowering my eyes, I allow silence to overtake me. I roll his statement over in my head, considering whether what he’s trying to accomplish is the only way to make room for a better world.
No, I tell myself.
I refuse to believe that.
There’s always a better option.
“And what if your plan fails?” I ask. “What if they don’t want peace?”
I glance up, and for once, I’m surprised by the expression crossing his face. Whereas before there was a grim and determined acceptance, now there’s only sadness.
He exhales a quavering breath before answering. “Then there’s no hope for any of us.”
My feet shuffle across the floor as my teeth click against the tip of my thumbnail. The mangled remnants of my shackles lay in pieces on the floor behind me. After everything with Bilken, the people here will never see me willingly restrained again. I plan to make sure of that. A part of me is ready to explode out of this room and bring justice to the traitor while another part is too confused to even know what I’m feeling. So, I pace back and forth, unaware of how much time passes.
Too lost in thought to care.
My mind is a jumbled and conflicted mess. It seems like, no matter how hard I focus and try to make sense of what I know, there’s even more that I still don’t understand. My conversation with Nolan brought many revelations. I won’t deny that. Yet, I have a nagging feeling that I’m missing something important.
My stomach twists, causing a horrible nausea to rise in my throat. The way the State used me—that was to be expected. However, when I think of how PHOENIX has used me . . .
As much as I might wish to, I can’t ignore the truth. Not anymore. When I consider the efforts the people in PHOENIX have gone to, as well as the reality behind my extraction and the fact that I’m here at all, I’m led to one foreboding conclusion.
Nolan wants to cause an even greater war.
He spoke of peace. Of change. But when it comes down to it, PHOENIX isn’t any better than the State. They’re simply two sides of the same coin.
Not all of them, a small voice whispers in my ear.
Without warning, Ezra’s face comes to life in my thoughts.
I’m certain he couldn’t fake what he’s told me about us—despite what I’ve seen from people like Richter and Nolan.
His feelings back then.
His feelings now.
They’re real. I know it.
Releasing a small sigh, I shake my head.
No, I tell myself. He wouldn’t have been involved with this.
I remember the way he looked at me when I first arrived here. A combination of incredulity and intense relief lit up his face, hidden behind a veil of desperation. Only one emotion outshone the others.
Love.
If anything, that one emotion reassures me of his innocence.
I run my fingers through my hair before cupping t
hem around my face. My feet stop moving, and the frustration coursing through my body seems determined to exhaust me. It feels like I could collapse at any moment. The confusion I’ve felt for months now also lingers in the back of my mind, exacerbating my muddled and fragmented memories.
“Why can’t I remember?” I wonder.
A loud gasp bursts from my lungs as my eyes widen with realization.
The uncertainty.
The questions.
I’ve held the answer to all of it this entire time.
For so long, I’ve been forced to use this unwanted power. For strategic gain. To kill others. Yet, I never considered using it for myself. Or, maybe, I just didn’t want to.
Using it for the sake of retrieving my memories isn’t an option—not when I know that I would only be able to fully embrace them if they come back to me in a natural way. But what about someone else’s memories?
Someone who could help me make sense of everything.
In eager anticipation, I ransack my brain. I’m curious to know more about the origin of the State, but I’m also aware how difficult that would be to accomplish. Without more information, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
The price of full control, I remind myself.
I roll my eyes in annoyance until another starting point occurs to me.
The one moment I want to see more than anything else.
The one person I want to see more than anyone else.
Exhaling a slow breath, I close my eyes, centralizing my thoughts on my father—trying to send my mind back to a time when he was still alive. To a time when I didn’t exist.
Back before all of this.
It’s as easy as imagining his face. His eyes and the faint creases in his cheeks appear before me, and I see every possible detail about him. As much as the brain of a child can remember, at least.
I sense the change around me as my physical surroundings transform in my head. I can even feel him reaching out to me, beckoning me in the right direction.
That small speck of guidance is the only thing I need.
Within seconds, I open my eyes.
The concrete prison and metal chair are nowhere to be seen. Instead, I find myself standing in what appears to be a study. Ornate pictures and paintings decorate the walls, and a large stone mantelpiece frames a crackling fire. A wooden desk sits just beneath an impressive, round window.