Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1) (21 page)

I scroll through the notes
and images, but I don’t stop to look at them. Ezra sits still, watching without
speaking a single word. I can tell that he’s wondering what I’m looking for.
Trouble is, even
I
don’t know. I figure I’ll know when I see it.

Note after note. Image
after image. Until—

My breath catches in my
lungs, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that
this
is what I’ve
been searching for.

My heart rate increases as
I read the military order, the weight of the world seeming to rest on every
word. Certainly, I’m not understanding this correctly because, from what I can
make out, the order requests the use of Project W. A. R. in the planning of
assaults on neighboring countries.

How would that even work?

I’m not a weapon . . .

I gasp, finally seeing the
truth. I’m almost tempted to slap myself for not seeing it sooner. After all,
I’m aware of the sort of power I’ll eventually possess. So, while I might not
be a weapon now, I
will
be in the future.

A fresh surge of anger
rushes through me. They knew all along.
He
knew. Richter knew what I
would become—what my powers would grow into. Which not only means he lied to me
when I was being held at the DSD, but that he’s known this whole time what I
was actually intended for.

I clench my fists as my
eyes continue to scan through the order. It goes on to request my use for the
premeditated protection of the State from outside attacks. That much makes
sense, I suppose, since that simply boils down to using my visions.

Assuming they ever
cooperate.

I grumble under my breath
before taking a step back from the desk. I notice Ezra glance between me and
the screen, clearly not understanding what’s written there to the extent that I
do.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I
meet his questioning gaze.

“The State’s planning on
waging war against the rest of the world.” As the words breach my lips, I hear
the absurdity of each syllable lingering in my ears. I shake my head. “What
purpose could that possibly serve?” I ask him.

“Complete control and
domination,” he answers. “They think they have the tool to achieve it, and it
seems like they’re willing to use it.”

He hunches over the desk
and flicks through the files once again, probably searching for clues that will
help us determine why we’re here. Meanwhile, I begin to walk across the room,
wanting to put as much distance between the horrible memories and myself as
possible.

I return to the book-lined
shelves, my fingers retracing the scattered instruments until I pass one of the
small rooms veering off from the side of the office. Something large and black
catches my eye, leading me to walk through the arch without a second thought as
to what I'm doing. Ezra calls my name, but I ignore him.

Unlike the office, this
room is comprised almost entirely of glass—of tiny mirrors to be exact. They
tile the walls up to the domed ceiling, where a crystal chandelier hangs above
me. I see hundreds of myself reflected in each glass fragment, as well as in
the surface of the black piano.

I’m surprised to see this
particular item more than any of the others. Whereas the ones in the office
were small and could easily be tucked away, something like this isn’t owned
with the intention of being hidden. This is a display. An object to be bragged
about and shown off proudly. An object that promotes individuality and
creativity. The very reason they were made illegal in the first place.

After all, what better way
to oppress a population than to take away anything that makes them different
from each other?

I run my fingers along the
ivory keys, much as I did all those years ago. I was only young then, so I
didn’t understand the consequences.

Not like I do now.

My father was a lover of
history and of all things that promoted the very creativity that was illegal to
pursue. He would collect banned items and store them in a secret place that no
one else knew about, all for the sake of knowledge.

It was for that reason he
was executed.

I was the only person he
ever shared that secret with. And in exchange for my silence, he would teach me
about the books and other objects he found—like the piano in front of me. That
secret became the very core of our relationship, and it made our bond different
from any relationship I’ve encountered since.

But, like all good things,
it could never last. My mother discovered the truth and did her duty to the
State by reporting his activities.

Her own husband.

On that level, I’m almost
surprised she didn’t report me too, regardless of the fact that I was only
young at the time. I suppose she felt the blame was down to my father. Maybe if
none of that had ever happened, she wouldn’t have given me up to the DSD like
she did. Maybe she would’ve protected me the way a mother should.

My eyes swell with tears as
I gaze down at the piano. It’s like a physical embodiment of my father laid out
in front of me, and I’m amazed to find that I can still remember the melody he
once taught me how to play. The melancholy rhythm—the way the music became a
part of my soul.

My fingers stroke the keys,
reminiscing, and as they do, it’s as if I’m seeing him again now.

I’m surrounded by a dreamlike
sensation. I see him teaching me this very song. I hear his voice telling me to
follow his fingers and to feel the music as it flows through me. I feel his
kindness and warmth.

The only human connection I
ever experienced before I found PHOENIX.

We continue to play—my
father in the past and me in the present. We play side by side, the music
growing in intensity with every note. However, as the music grows, the vision
changes.

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 destruction. 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.