Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1) (20 page)

Jenner looks skeptical.

“I don’t know, man,” he
murmurs. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

My heart sinks. If Jenner,
of all people, can no longer remain positive about the situation, then what
hope do
I
have?

It’s as if reality has
abruptly come to meet me head on, forcing me to come to terms with my fears
once again. I look at Jenner whose eyes meet mine, but I don’t voice my mutual
feelings of trepidation.

“Tell you what,” Ezra says,
halting in the middle of the hallway. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up.
Jenner, you and Rai take that side. Wynter and I will take this side. Call us
if you find anything.”

I want to ask if he really
thinks that splitting up is a good idea, but neither Rai nor Jenner question
his judgment. They nod their heads in agreement and move out, doing exactly as
they’re told.

A feeling of dread
overtakes me as I watch them walk away from us. My fears from before come
creeping back, and I silently beg the world, or fate, or whatever might have a
hand in deciding our futures that this won’t be the last time I see them.

A familiar warmth wraps
around my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I look over at Ezra
standing beside me.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” I breathe.

We search a few rooms but
find nothing. No people. No clues. Just empty offices. I follow him along the
length of the corridor, my eyes and my mind peeled for any suspicious activity.

I see nothing.

I sense nothing.

As we near the end of the
hallway, Ezra stops short. I nearly walk right into his back, and I stumble
over my feet in an attempt to correct my balance.

“What’s wrong?” I ask,
using the wall to steady myself.

He points to a gold plate
fixed on the door in front of us. I follow his finger until my eyes land upon
the letters engraved in the metal.

“This is it,” he murmurs.

My heart falters, skipping
a few beats. I stare at the door, aware that two possible futures await us from
here. Either we’ll meet Bilken, and he’ll turn out to be exactly what he
promised, or we’ll meet something else.

Ezra unhooks his
communicator from his belt, bringing it close to his lips.

“We found something,” he
says into it. “We’re going to check it out.”

His eyes fix on mine, and I
know we’ll at least face this together, regardless of what’s waiting for us on
the other side of this door.

Not that long ago, Ezra was
nothing more to me than a man I saw in a vision.

But now . . .

Rai’s muffled voice
distracts me.

Her words are intermingled
with static.
“Ezra, don’t do anything stupid—”

He cuts her off by
disconnecting, and then places the communicator back on his belt. He cocks his
gun, his eyes landing on mine once again.

“Remember,” he whispers
urgently. “Stay behind me.”

I nod, and my heart begins
to race as he pushes open the door.

THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN. EZRA steps over
the threshold with his gun pointed ahead of him while I follow behind, staying
close just like I promised.

An opaque darkness fills
the office, and I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears as my eyes scan the
shadows. Our flashlights reflect off a large glass desk standing in the middle
of the room, and the beams bounce off the walls, revealing the surrounding
emptiness. No one is here.

We’re all alone.

We advance cautiously,
uncertain of what may lie around every corner. I creep along behind Ezra, our
footsteps muffled by a white carpet spanning the length of this office as well
as two adjoining spaces. Extravagant archways lead into the other areas, which
utilize the same decor as the room we’re in now.

In a way, this place seems
like some sort of parallel universe. The wood features we saw throughout the
rest of the building continue in the foundations here—except they’re accented
with the familiar, clean-cut look of metal and glass.

It’s like a strange
combination of two worlds. One, the world I grew up in, and the other, the old
world that no longer exists.

The unusual nature of the
room distracts me from our reason for being here. The lure of curiosity pulls
me to the nearest wall, and I walk alongside it, my eyes drawn to the glass
shelves perfectly arranged in their wooden casing. Hundreds of volumes of old
books stare back at me, as well as a number of objects I’ve never encountered.

It’s all so alien to me,
and as I run my fingertips across the edge of the shelves, I can’t help but
feel an overwhelming anger within every fiber of my being. There’s so much
contradiction—so much
hypocrisy
—in this room that it makes me sick. Why
are members of the State allowed these items when ownership by normal people is
strictly forbidden? Why are
they
allowed them so freely when such
possession by anyone else would be seen as a crime?

A crime punishable by
death, no less.

A terrible nausea flips my
stomach, and it takes everything I have to fight against the rage coursing
through me. Despite all that I’ve been through, both past and present, it
hadn’t actually occurred to me how much I despise the State until now. And it
all boils down to injustice.

What happened back then, I
never even considered that it might be wrong. It was simply the way things
were. A reality not to be questioned.

But now . . . seeing
this
. . .

“I don’t think anyone’s
here,” Ezra says suddenly.

I blink, a loud gasp
escaping my lips as I turn to face him. I watch as he does another sweep of the
office, but just as we’ve already discovered, no one else is here.

The whole building seems to
be deserted, so what does this mean? If the offer contained within the
transmission was genuine, then where’s our contact? Where’s Wren Bilken?
There’s also the other possibility. If this is a trap, where are the Enforcers,
or whoever would’ve been sent to kill or detain us?

Ezra walks over to the
glass desk, and unsure what else to do, I follow behind him. I stand at his
side as he sits down in the accompanying leather-lined chair and runs both of
his hands across the computerized surface. The screen comes to life, flickering
brightly in the dark room.

I hear his fingers tap a
few times against the glass, but it's not long before I lose focus on whatever
it is he’s looking for. Instead, I find myself captivated by the circular
object standing in one corner of the desktop. It’s a moderately sized ball with
a pole running through it, elevated by a base to allow it to spin. Small shapes
protrude unevenly across the exterior with lines of elegant script printed
across them. I only recognize one of the names. The rest are unfamiliar to me.

My eyes trail across its
surface, trying to form a name for this miniature representation of our planet.
After a short while, a single word echoes through my head—a distant reminder
digging its way out of the recesses of my memory.

A globe.
I hear the word in my
father's voice.

It’s strange, but I never
thought to question the rest of the world until now. It’s almost alarming to
realize the power that the State has over us, only allowing its citizens to be
educated on what it considers appropriate. It determines what we learn and what
we don't, turning us into mindless followers with no way to survive without the
system they've put in place. I realize now how little I truly understand.

I know nothing of the world
outside this country.

I know nothing of the world
outside this
city
.

I, along with everyone
else, only know what the State tells us.

I stare at the globe, troubled
by the daunting comprehension hanging over me. It’s a thing of beauty—something
no longer seen nowadays, just like the many other objects present in this room.
I had never even seen one until now.

With a slight push, my hand
forces it to turn. My eyes follow the rotations, one after another. Hypnotized.
All the while, I hear Ezra’s fingers repeatedly tapping in the background.

His voice is the only sound
that manages to penetrate my thoughts.

“What’s this?” he asks.

I blink a few times and
shake my head, shifting my attention back where it belongs. I wander over to
the other side of the desk. Leaning down, I gaze over his shoulder at the
illuminated screen. I’m not entirely sure what we’re looking at, but sprawled
across the top are two words printed in large red letters.

“Project W. A. R.,” Ezra
murmurs.

His fingertips tap again,
flicking through the attached files. My eyes dart across the screen, taking in
a few disjointed sentences here and there. From what I can understand, they
seem to be memos or notes left by a doctor.

Some lines stand out to me
more than others.

My mouth suddenly feels
dry.

I try to swallow, but all
of the saliva in my mouth seems to have evaporated.

My heart begins to pound
quickly.

Too quickly.

My eyes widen in horror. My
lips part, preparing to scream, but no sound exits my lungs. I try to reach
forward to destroy these files before Ezra can read another word, but I can’t
seem to remember how to move. I’m completely motionless, unable to do anything
except stand back and relive a part of my life that never should’ve happened. A
time that Ezra will now witness.

My time at the DSD.

He continues to read
through the notes, seemingly unaware of the panic attack crippling my body.
It’s only when the screen changes that his hand stops moving.

Now, instead of documents,
we’re looking at pictures. First, we see an unflattering mugshot from before
the testing started—back when I still looked fully healthy. Then the images
progress until they’re no longer just of me, but of the countless experiments I
was forced to endure. Video footage is available as well.

My breathing becomes
labored, and I want nothing more than to run from this room. I can’t bear it. I
don’t want to see it.

I don’t want him to see it.

“My god . . .” I hear him
whisper.

I can feel him looking up
at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. How can I, when he’s seen the vulnerable
state I was in? When he’s seen evidence of the one thing that I desperately
wish I could forget?

My lungs take in a shaking
breath. “It’s initials,” I finally say to him, only just realizing it for
myself. “Project W. A. R.” I pause, inhaling again slowly. “W . . . A . . . R .
. . Wynter Arabelle Reeves.”

I risk a glance down at
him, and his horrified expression twists my already aching heart to near
breaking point. My lips tremble when I try to speak, but my voice fails me. I’m
physically incapable of putting words to the traumatic imprisonment I was
subjected to.

Thankfully, Ezra doesn’t
seem to need an explanation. He can clearly grasp what happened without asking
me for details.

Still, his silence says so
much more than words ever could.

“Why is this here?” he asks
after a long, drawn-out moment.

I shake my head because, in
truth, I don’t know. Why
is
this here? It certainly doesn’t bode well
for the success of this mission.

This has to be a trap. Why
else would Wren Bilken have this information on me? And if this
is
a
trap, why are these files even here in the first place?

Suddenly, the realization
hits me.

Was this planted here for
us to find it?

That can’t be the case,
surely. Why would they go through so much trouble? They had no way of knowing
I’d even be here. As far as the State is concerned, or at least Wren Bilken,
the only people on this mission would’ve been members of PHOENIX. Besides, even
if this report
was
planted here, why would they want PHOENIX to see it?

A sinking feeling burrows
in the pit of my stomach. Shrugging it off, I lean forward and swipe my hand
across the desktop, eager for answers.