Type X (Project W. A. R. Volume II)
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.
Two years have passed since her willing return to the DSD, and Wynter Reeves is no longer the timid girl who only wanted to blend in. Strong, confidant, and in control of her once debilitating powers, the world trembles at her feet while news of what she’s capable of spreads like fire among the State’s enemies. As the death toll rises and Dr. Richter further warps her into a weapon of war, Wynter is forced to embrace the daunting reality of what she’s become. With the remnants of her humanity hanging on by a shoestring, she must choose between the one sacrifice that could lead to her salvation or the dark path of destruction from which there can be no return.
Torn between two sides of a war she never asked for, will Wynter find her freedom, or will she be doomed to remain a monster forever?
“Please . . .” he mutters.
A single tear slides along his dirtied cheek. As it does, the faint flicker of my humanity responds.
The vision hits me like a flash of lightning, placing me in a new scene of destruction. Everything is ruined. There are no people. No lights. There’s only me.
Me and him.
I scrutinize the man, trying to make sense of why he’s familiar. I must know him. Otherwise, why would I be seeing this?
The stranger meets my gaze, and an emotion I can’t comprehend in my inhuman state burns in his eyes. Something tells me I might not want to understand it.
A few stray tears rush down his cheeks, and a single utterance expels from his lips a moment later.
“I’m sorry, Wynter.”
My heart clenches at the sound of his voice, but the scene around me reverts to the death-filled battleground before I have the chance to react. Blinking away the vision, I lock eyes with the soldier still cowering on the ground. His expression lights up with hope, but I can’t give him what he’s asking for. I can’t give him anything except the one service I was created to provide.
“Please . . . .” In spite of my desire to spare him, I only hear the voice from my vision when he speaks. It beats through my head like a raging drum, haunting me.
A flush of anger shoots through my body, and my head shakes in wild jerks as my hands dart to my hair. My fingernails dig into my scalp as if I’ll be able to make sense of my crumbling sanity by doing so. As if I’ll be able to manage my thoughts and end this madness, once and for all.
Irregular, shallow breaths pour from my lungs as I peer into the eyes of the soldier at my feet. Except, it’s not him I’m seeing. It’s the man.
I see his face.
I hear his voice.
My fingers grip my skull even harder, and the familiar pressure climbs up my throat like vomit. The anger follows behind it until I can no longer hold what I’m feeling at bay.
I stare at him, but there’s nothing I can do to stop my emotions from taking over. As I focus on his face, seeing only the man from my dream, I allow them to destroy what little humanity I have left.
“Get out of my head,” I breathe.
The soldier’s eyes widen in the exact moment I snap his neck.
M. A. PHIPPS is an American author who currently resides in the picturesque English West Country with her husband, daughter, and their Jack Russell, Milo. A lover of the written word, it has always been her dream to become a published author, and it is her hope to expand into multiple genres of fiction. When she isn’t writing, you can find her counting down the days until the new season of Game of Thrones.
Official Webpage: http://maphipps.com