Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1) (4 page)

WHEN I WAKE UP, I’M in another room I
don’t recognize. However, unlike the room with all of those machines, this room
is smaller and practically bare. The only objects I can see are a table
positioned at the base of a single cot, a toilet, shower, and sink—all crammed
closely together against the wall opposite the door. Everything is gray and
metallic.

Cold.

Slowly, I try to sit up. My
head is fuzzy—probably a side effect from whatever they injected me with
before—and my back aches from the hard mattress beneath me. It creaks when I
shift my weight. I scoot to the edge and plant my feet on the floor, but I
don’t move any more than that for several minutes. My center of balance feels
off, leaving me slightly nauseated. I take a few deep breaths in the hope that
it will make the feeling pass.

I lift my eyes to study the
room while I wait. There aren’t any windows—just plain concrete walls with the
exception of a single camera hanging in the far corner. A red light blinks on
the side of the lens, and just like in the elevator at W. P. Headquarters, it’s
as if I can feel the people here watching me. I can feel their penetrating
gazes without even seeing their faces, especially the doctor I met before.

Richter, he called himself.

Carefully, I push myself up
onto my feet. A wave of vertigo leaves me somewhat unsteady, but I charge
through it, forcing my body over to the sink, where I splash some water onto my
face. It’s refreshing and helps to take away the last of the nausea.

I peer into the small
mirror hanging above the metal basin. It’s immaculately clean, just like the
rest of the room, but all I notice is the savage-looking girl staring back at
me. She looks exhausted, sick even, and has heavy bags under her eyes. They’re
dark like bruises, made darker by the unhealthy lack of color in her face.

I close my eyes, so I don’t
have to look at her any longer.

After a moment, I turn my
gaze to the corner of the mirror where I’m distracted by the reflection of a
small pile of clothes folded on the bed behind me. I immediately walk over to
them and run my fingertips across the fabric. Also gray. Also cold. At least
they’re an improvement over the unsightly hospital gown currently sticking to my
body.

Seeing the fresh clothes
makes me feel even dirtier than I actually am. With nothing else to do, I
decide to take a shower. However, my heart begins to race when I remember the
camera hanging in the corner. The red light continues to blink, and I can’t
help but wonder to what extent they intend to watch me.

I let out a heavy sigh,
coming to the disheartening conclusion that privacy most likely isn’t something
I’ll be afforded while I’m here. Taking another deep breath, I choose to ignore
it as best I can.

Shrugging out of the thin
gown, I let it fall to the floor as I step under the water. It’s lukewarm but
feels good all the same. I embrace the sensation of it running over my skin,
using my fingernails to scrape away the dried blood and sweat.

The sound of the running
water makes me feel at ease, almost allowing me to forget the reality of the
situation. Then I’m reminded of where I am, and my thoughts once again focus on
everything that’s happened.

How long has it been since
I was taken?

It can’t have been that
long ago. Then again, I have no way of actually knowing. I finally settle on
assuming it’s only been a day or two, and I take comfort in that, hoping that
maybe my stay here won’t be extended much longer.

Deep down, I know my
optimism is only a distraction from the truth. However long they plan to hold
me here . . . wherever
here
is
. . .
I have a feeling it’ll be
for a while.

I grip the metal handle and
turn it until the water shuts off. Reaching for the white towel hung neatly
within arm’s reach, my hands wrap it around my body as I step out of the
shower. The floor is cold against my exposed feet as I scurry over to the bed.

In an effort to protect
whatever modesty I have left, I keep the towel draped around me while I change
into the fresh clothes. The pants are dark gray and comfortably loose, although
a bit itchy, and the top is a lighter gray, which is clearly a few sizes too
big for my body. At least they’re covering me, though.

I towel dry my hair during
the time it takes to walk back over to the mirror. I look somewhat better now,
but in spite of the shower, those horrible bags still hang under my eyes.
Shrugging it off, I place the towel across the sink and begin to comb my
fingers through the damp strands of hair. The dark ends drip onto my shoulders
while my bangs stick to my forehead, but it’s the best I can do under the
circumstances.

Returning to the bed, I
slump down onto the hard mattress. After a few minutes, a feeling of
restlessness sets in. I lift my head to glance around the room, but there’s
nothing to occupy my time except sleep. All too quickly, the thing I fear most
is no longer uncertainty. It’s boredom.

A groan rises in my throat
when I glimpse the table at the end of the bed. For a split second, I thought I
saw movement there. Shifting closer to investigate, I notice that the surface
is completely computerized, and without thinking, I reach out my hand. When my
fingers press against it, the screen flashes once before changing to reveal a
menu, offering a multitude of choices ranging from food and drink to toiletries
and assistance. It’s strange, especially considering my surroundings don’t
exactly scream hospitality.

I tap the icon for food and
drink. There aren’t many options, and I decide to go for something bland in case
my stomach acts up. As soon as I select what I want, the screen flashes again.
An instant later, a panel in the ceiling above me opens.

I reel back when a large
robotic arm descends in front of me and places a tray across the
table—presenting me with a meal that, although plain and minimal overall, looks
like a feast to my famished stomach.

The arm retracts into the
ceiling as I begin to eat. I gorge on the food, no longer caring about the
camera watching me.

A feeling of reinvigoration
rushes through me after eating, and for the first time since I woke up in this
place, my mind actually seems clear. I take a moment to once again think back
on everything that’s happened, wondering why exactly I’m being held here. Is it
because of what happened during my placement exam? I thought so at first, but
then I remember what that woman said about my blood type changing. This is
about something else. Something
more
.

It has to be.

I stretch my legs before
rising to my feet. My entire body feels uneasy, and my stomach is in knots. I
turn in place, taking in everything about the room, but there’s nothing new to
see. Just like there’s no way to escape, except through the single door in
front of me, which I’d be willing to bet is locked from the outside.

Curious, I approach it. My
eyes scan across the flat surface. No latch. No handle. Nothing. Just a slab of
material blocking my only way out of here.

My heart jumps into my
throat when I hear a series of beeps coming from the other side of the door,
and I reflexively step back when it abruptly springs open.

A middle-aged man with
facial hair stands in the doorway. He’s wearing white clothes that are similar
to mine and holds a large computerized tablet in his hands.

“Dr. Richter would like a
word with you,” he says in a monotone voice.

He gives me the once over,
and it vaguely occurs to me that he seems nervous. When I don’t say anything,
he casually extends his hand toward the doorway.

“Follow me, please,” he
requests.

Oddly enough, when I begin
to move forward, he takes a step back. I hesitate as a feeling of suspicion
arises within me, but he continues down the hallway without a second glance in
my direction.

Cautiously, I step out of
the room. A heavy weight feels like it’s been lifted off my shoulders, but it’s
soon replaced by an even heavier weight the longer we walk in silence. It
doesn’t go unnoticed that the man keeps his distance from me. He only looks
back when we reach our destination.

My feet falter beneath me.
I linger a few steps away from him as he enters a sequence of numbers into the
keypad beside the door, causing the same sort of beeping I heard before. A
little light turns green when the door in front of us opens.

The man steps back from the
open doorway and signals with a nod of his head for me to go inside. When I
walk through, the first thing I see is a long metal table. It takes up most of
the space in the room and is accompanied by two chairs, facing opposite each
other. The walls are plain and gray, apart from the wall on my left, which
holds a large tinted mirror. A surveillance camera sits in the uppermost corner
beside it.

Other than that, the room
is empty.

“Take a seat,” the man
instructs, startling me. “Dr. Richter will be in momentarily.”

I glance back at him, and
he indicates the chair on the side of the table facing the mirror. Without
another word, he steps out of the room. The door closes behind him, undoubtedly
locking me in.

Taking a deep breath, I try
to ignore my shaken nerves as I lower myself onto the seat. Luckily, I don’t
have time to consider what’s about to happen.

Within a matter of seconds,
the door opens once again, and Dr. Richter strolls into the room, his stride
graceful and poised. He smiles at me, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes
as he sits down in the chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Hello, Wynter,” he
murmurs. “How are you feeling?”

I stare at him, but for
some reason, I'm unable to come up with a single thing to say. He watches me
with that unnerving grin still present on his face.

“I want to see my mother,”
I blurt out without thinking.

His smile immediately
vanishes. He turns away from me for a moment, and when he finally meets my gaze
again, I’m met with an expression of apology that seems strangely forced.

“I’m . . . afraid that’s
not possible,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

He smiles once again,
although more gently this time. Regardless, the gesture does nothing to soften
the blow.

“Since you had yet to be
reassigned to a new sector when you were brought in to us, you were still
technically and lawfully under the guardianship of your mother. With that said,
she has relinquished her custodial rights, and you are now under the care and
ownership of the State. Well,” he pauses, “the DSD to be more precise.”

My eyes widen. The DSD. The
Department of Scientific Discoveries. A harmless enough name that ironically
coincides with the last place I could hope to find myself. This is where the
State conducts human experimentation—poorly hidden behind the guise of
research. Only the worst criminals are sent here, so what do they want with me?

Am I a criminal?

“This is your home for the
foreseeable future.”

I stare at him, the terror
coursing through me faster than I can contain it.

“I understand that what I’m
telling you must come as a surprise,” he continues. “But I assure you that you
are perfectly safe and will be treated with nothing but civility during your
stay.”

“And how long will
that
be?” I growl.

My mother gave me up to
these people. My own mother! I’m not only shocked but also disgusted. The
combination of more emotions than I can even begin to name is only made worse
when I remember the final words I heard her say.

“Do what you must.”

Suddenly, I don’t feel
well. The nausea from before was nothing compared to this, and it feels as if I
can’t breathe without potentially being sick. I squeeze my eyes shut to try to
calm myself down, but my head is spinning.

“Do what you must,”
she said.

“I’d like to discuss what
you were doing prior to the incident.”

My eyes snap open as the
sound of the doctor’s voice drags me back to the present. When I look up at
him, I realize that he never answered my question.