Type X Read online

  Type X

  Project W. A. R. Part Two

  M. A. Phipps

  Contents

  Title Page

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  The Story Continues

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by 7S

  Type X

  Project W. A. R. Trilogy Book Two

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  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-64204-437-9

  Print ISBN: 978-1-98138-821-9

  * * *

  7 Sisters Publishing

  P.O. Box 993

  Jupiter, Florida 33458

  * * *

  www.maphipps.com

  www.7sisterspublishing.com

  * * *

  Copyright © 2016 M. A. Phipps

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  * * *

  Cover Design by Nathalia Suellen

  For the readers who have taken this journey with me

  For an interactive version of this map, please visit: www.maphipps.com.

  A heavy wind slams into the side of the helicopter, shifting the metal carcass with rough, repetitive jolts. The Enforcers around me don’t take much notice, no doubt focused on our impending mission.

  Leaning my head back against the wall, I listen to the roaring drone of the rotors. In a way, it’s therapeutic. An escape from the reality I always find myself drowning in.

  My eyes close as I take a deep breath. The steady beating of my heart is calming and allows me to distance myself from the very near and inevitable future. More than anything, I wish I could remain in this state of in-between forever, but I know better than to hope for the impossible.

  A budding exasperation clenches in my chest, and I exhale through my nose in a bid to ignore it. Even without looking, I’m aware of someone watching me. It’s a familiar enough sensation by now—the inescapable curiosity that goes hand in hand with what I am. After this long, I’ve grown to expect it.

  Lifting my gaze, I lock eyes with the Enforcer sitting across from me. To his credit, he doesn’t turn away, but what surprises me even more is how young he appears to be. In fact, I’d be willing to venture a guess and say he’s barely older than I am. Although, unlike me, it’s clear that he’s afraid.

  My brow furrows as I peer at him, curious what he must be thinking. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, and he blinks in rapid succession before his eyes flick with a nervous glance to my throat. Sucking in a sharp breath, my nostrils flare as I straighten up in my seat, making the metal ring around my neck shift against my skin.

  I drop my eyes, grasping what it is the Enforcer is truly afraid of.

  It’s ironic. The battle awaiting us poses far more danger to these people than I do, and yet, I’m the one he’s second-guessing. Or, maybe, he’s doubting the effectiveness of my collar.

  I breathe in, holding back a mocking laugh.

  Don’t worry, I’m tempted to say to him. You aren’t the ones who have to be afraid of me.

  Another bout of turbulence jerks the transport helicopter. The straps holding me in place strain against my torso, digging into my shoulders. With the sudden dip in altitude, my stomach turns on itself, but I’m used to it.

  I’m used to all of this.

  A crackling sound assaults my ears when the speaker system purrs to life. A moment later, a husky voice echoes through the metal interior.

  “We will arrive at our target destination in T-minus two minutes. Make your final preparations and ready yourselves for landing.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I observe a wave of movement as my comrades-in-arms begin to busy themselves. A few individuals load ammunition into their guns while others reposition their gear. Pointless checks that do nothing more than prepare them for a battle they’ll never actually see. After all, the Enforcers are only a last resort.

  The State has other means to get the job done.

  I remain still, passing the seconds until landing in silence. The noise surrounding the helicopter only gets louder as we descend, and the faint rumble of explosions rattle in the distance. The occasional shockwave rocks the cargo hold, reminding us what we’re walking into.

  Glancing up, I observe the young Enforcer across from me. Beads of sweat dot his upper lip, and his fingers fidget in his lap as he wrings his hands. His obvious agitation leads me to wonder if this is his first time in the field. If it is, then he should be glad it’s with me.

  Seeming to sense that I’m watching him, his eyes dart to mine before his entire face disappears beneath the barrier of his helmet. I purse my lips in response, curious if he even realizes that the very person he’s afraid of will be the reason he stays alive.

  The reason everyone here stays alive.

  The aircraft trembles as we approach the ground, and a loud humming rings through the hold as the rotors begin to slow, creating a strange vortex where other sounds cease to exist. The engines shudder to a stop when we touch down, and the Enforcers unfasten their safety belts once the pilot gives us the all clear. In one cohesive unit, they rise to their feet—falling into formation as the loading ramp screams to life and drops with a heavy thud into the sand of the overpopulated beach waiting below.

  Metal clashes against metal as the soldiers move in a controlled herd. I linger behind, refusing to lift a single muscle until I’m alone—just like every other mission I’ve been on. I’m not sure why I do this. Maybe it’s my own form of silent protest, or maybe it’s the only way I feel in control.

  Savoring my fleeting solitude, I shift my fingers onto the harness, and as they loosen it, my hands are steady. I’ve done this so many times now that the thought of what’s about to happen doesn’t even faze me.

  Breathing in, I push myself up. My eyes lock on the loading ramp, and although I’m well aware of what awaits me at the bottom, my pace is composed and confident.

  The metallic soles of my boots reflect off the floor, despite how lightly I tread across it. The sound is deafening, even with the battle raging nearby.

  As I descend the ramp, my gaze fixes ahead in an attempt to shut out the sea of faces beneath me. It’s harder to ignore them than I thought it would be—a lesson I never learn, no matter how many times I’m forced to go through this. Before I can stop myself, my eyes lock on the crowd.

  Heads turn when I approach, and bodies move aside to make room for me to pass. All the while, I sense what the crowd is thinking. Their every thought radiates over the beach in a mental wave, seeping into my pores like a contagious sickness.

  Astonishment.

  Fear.

  It’s difficult to
tell which emotion is stronger.

  I advance through the parted crowd, avoiding the hundreds of stares chipping away at my vacant shell. My expression remains drawn as my eyes go in and out of focus. After a few steps, I turn toward the solid mass standing in the distance, welcoming the distraction of the skyline up ahead. As the space between us shrinks, I register the militarized units converging on the outskirts of the city. To my annoyance, every member of the patrol stops what they’re doing the instant they notice me.

  I press on. The sand merges with an expanse of tiny rocks, which covers the length of the beach right up to the road leading to the city. The gravel crunches beneath my feet, and the sound is almost soothing considering the circumstances—not that unlike the rotors from earlier.

  However, just like before, I know this moment of tranquility won’t last for long.

  I freeze in place when a quiet beeping drums in my ear. Lifting my hand, I press the tip of my finger against the button on my communicator.

  My lips part to speak, but I remain silent. Instead, I wait for the familiar voice I know is present on the other side.

  “Can you hear me?” Richter asks.

  His words resound through my head, triggering that familiar unease and loathing. I take a deep breath before answering. “I can hear you.”

  “Good,” he says after a brief delay. “The target is 1.6 kilometers to the north of your location. A convoy is ready to accompany you—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I interrupt.

  At first, he doesn’t respond. Yet, in spite of his silence, I can tell that he’s pleased with me. When he eventually comes back over the signal, the tone of his voice makes it too easy to visualize his smug smile. “It finally seems like we’re on the same page. Good luck.”

  His last words are a sinister purr in my ear, mocking me. A shudder runs up my spine as I press the button to disconnect the call.

  When I look up, an eerie timelessness engulfs the beach as every eye within a hundred yards fixates on me. The Enforcers in the vicinity remain frozen in place, their faces contorted into a shared mask of respect and alarm.

  I exhale and trudge forward. The crowd once again separates, allowing me to proceed unhindered toward the perimeter of the city. The blasts grow louder, and everyone here is aware that anyone who steps within range of the explosions will die. However, even knowing that, no one tries to stop me.

  After all, this is what I’m here for.

  The beach gives way to a paved road. The tarmac is worn in places and dented with potholes in others, but regardless of its flaws, the city the path leads through would be considered beautiful—or so I’ve heard. I’m sure I would agree if I still retained the ability to appreciate such things.

  After the State launched the first dozen or so invasions, the places I saw became muddled in my brain until I could no longer differentiate between them. Or maybe I just didn’t care to. Maybe they all look the same to me—much like this city looks to me now—because I’m too detached from everything to care. Maybe by refusing to acknowledge my surroundings, I can somehow escape the guilt of what I’ve done.

  I thought I could fight it. I thought I could resist the numbness that has coursed through me since the moment this war began, but I can’t. Not now. Not anymore. Not with everything I’ve seen.

  Not with everything I’ve done.

  I can’t even recall why I agreed to this, or why I’m still doing it. It’s possible Dr. Richter altered my memory as a way of getting me to comply with his orders, but I’m afraid it might be something far more ominous than that. My brain . . .

  I don’t think it wants me to remember.

  For two years now, I’ve been the State’s puppet and Richter’s prize science experiment. Or for lack of a better word, their slave. A large portion of that time has been devoted to brutal tests, all conducted in the name of science. The rest has been spent invading foreign lands.

  In the space of six months, the State has overtaken almost everything.

  I know my experiences have warped me. Nothing feels real anymore. Nothing except pain. Even my memories feel distorted and surreal, often making me wonder if I’m able to trust what’s in my head. I remember my life back before the DSD and this disease. I can even remember my initial time with Dr. Richter, although the events that led to it are now a mystery to me, almost as if the recollections have dissolved into thin air—with the exception, of course, of the experimentation and torture.

  That I can remember far too clearly.

  Adding further to my uncertainty, hiding behind the trauma of the past few years, there’s a brief period I can’t make sense of. The memory of it niggles at the back of my brain, letting me know it’s there—probably living with the small piece of me that still feels human underneath this abomination I’ve become. It’s growing weaker, though. Each day, another piece of my humanity is eaten away, taking whoever I was before with it. Gradually, I’m becoming less of what I was and more of what the State has always wanted me to be.

  A weapon.

  In spite of my increasing weakness, a large part of me clings to whatever my mind refuses to remember. I’m not sure why, but something tells me that my reason for doing this lies in those lost memories, making me suspect that I’m trying to protect something or someone. The recollections of my past are hidden behind a veil of confusion and corrupted by the repetitive nightmares about everything I’ve been subjected to. Still, I can feel their presence in the back of my brain, waiting for me to find them.

  My feet slow to a halt, disrupting my thoughts as I feel the enemy’s presence like a fog clouding my head. They’re close. Only a little farther.

  Then this can all be over.

  The curve of the road takes me through an abandoned residential area. I cast an occasional glance at the darkened windows, but there’s no visible movement inside. The small part of me that’s still human feels thankful for that.

  After another few hundred yards, the layout of the neighborhood begins to change, extending out like arms opening to welcome me home. My feet never falter as I push forward into the city center.

  A vast plaza stands in front of me, and although it was likely once used for something less sinister than battle, the erect barricades and soldiers littering the ground make it completely unrecognizable. A handful of tanks are positioned along the outer confines of the square—no doubt a last-ditch attempt to save their home from our assault.

  My eyes scan the area. I gather that this battalion is all that’s left of their defenses—a pitiful contingent that the State could’ve eradicated in a single blow, just like they’ve done to the rest of this city.

  Of course, I know why they didn’t.

  A surge of anger rushes through my body, and I can almost hear Dr. Richter’s taunting laughter in my head. Why do something themselves when they have me to do it for them? After all, the State is seeking to oppress, not annihilate. Destroy just enough to make the rest of the world fear them. Kill just enough to make them surrender.

  I blink in response to the abrupt sound of shouting. A male voice pierces through the tense silence of the plaza, high-pitched like the yowl of a dying cat. I glance up to see the remaining soldiers look in my direction. Similar to the Enforcers, they all wear the same apprehensive expression.

  My steps slow to a standstill as I stare back at the army with indifference. The voice rings through the air once again, drawing my attention to the officer it belongs to.

  Our eyes meet, and a small sigh escapes my lips when he yells out to me again. No matter how many times he repeats himself, I won’t be able to understand the unfamiliar words passing between us. After a few more wasted breaths, he finally seems to grasp this.

  Skin glowing red with frustration, he turns his attention to the soldier standing beside him. The other man’s face goes ashen when a string of orders is barked in his ear. Eyes darting between us, he raises his rifle. His hands shake as he fires a single shot, the bullet hitting the grou
nd mere inches from my feet.

  I don’t flinch. Remaining calm, I tilt my head and peer at the damaged stone in front of me before lifting my gaze to the soldier’s face.

  The moment our eyes connect, I feel an overwhelming pressure take hold, suppressing the one part of me that might have the power to stop this from happening. A heated anger flushes my body, coursing through my veins as it coaxes me into action.

  Chaos erupts throughout the plaza. Shouts of warning carry through the crowd, and I hear the click of metal as their guns lock into place to shoot me down where I stand. Within seconds, the officer shrieks an order, giving them permission to do so.

  My march forward is effortless as my mind redirects the rain of bullets. I am a rock, and their attempts are like water, forced to go around me when they fail to penetrate my body. Still, they keep firing.

  The enemy’s terror becomes more visible as the distance between us lessens. Determined to make him my starting point, my eyes remain fixed on the soldier who first shot at me.

  They will see what I’m capable of.

  They will know who they’re dealing with.

  Seeming to sense my intentions, he lifts his gun one last time. I reach forward, wrapping my fingers around the end of the barrel as I yank it with a single rough thrust toward my hips. The jerking motion drags him to the ground, causing him to fall into a patch of dirt.