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

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licati
on may be
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Edited by CLS Editing

Cover design by Covers
by Christian

Book design by
Inkstain Interior Book Designing

This is a work of
ficti
on. All of
the characters, organizations and events po
rtra
yed in this
novel are a
product
of the
author’s imagination. Any
rese
m
blance
to
persons, li
ving or
dead, actual events, or organiz
ations
is entirely co
incide
n
tal.

Published by Crushing
Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC

Text Copyright
©
2016 M. A.
Phipps

All rights reserved.

“THE TRAIN IS NOW
APPROACHING Central Station. Disembark here for W. P. Headquarters and for
access to the Department of Interzonal Affairs.”

I glance out the window.
The darkness of the tunnel seems to disappear in an instant, and before I can
even blink, the train is back above ground. The buildings of the city rush past
in a blur, blending into one confused mass of gray. Nothing stands out.

Everything is the same.

Grabbing my bag, I slowly
rise from my seat. The movement of the train is smooth enough that I don’t have
to hold onto anything to keep myself from falling. But I do anyway. Perhaps to
calm the nerves raging through every inch of my body and steady the trembling
in my legs, which makes it feel as if they might buckle beneath me at any
moment.

My fingers grip whatever
they can find as I make my way toward the nearest door. A crowd of people has
already gathered in front of it, but that doesn’t surprise me. After all, Zone
1 is the busiest of all the zones in this city.

I barely even notice when
the train stops. The automated voice comes back over the loudspeaker, telling
us to keep our distance just as the doors are about to open. Other than that,
the train is completely silent. No one says anything. No one forces their way
forward to get out any quicker. Everyone is patient. Everyone waits their turn.

Including me.

My lips hardly move as I
quietly murmur the same words to myself that I repeat every day. “Don’t stand
out. Blend in. Remain invisible.” Those are the rules I live by—that everyone
lives by.

Those are the rules that
will ensure we all survive.

I descend from the train,
walking headfirst into an overpowering rush of noise. Footsteps intermingle
with the jumbled beeps of turnstiles, combining in a cloud of sound, which
echoes like thunder through the station lobby. I mindlessly follow the herd of
people shifting toward the exit, each step nothing more than a sluggish crawl
forward. My hands grope my pockets, searching for my rail card as I find my
place in line, and when I eventually make it to the front, I scan it across the
machine just like everyone else.

Another beep.

I push myself forward when
the turnstile opens.

The warm glow of daylight
reaches down to meet me as I move calmly up the staircase leading out into the
city. A sharp breath catches in my lungs as the cold air flushes my cheeks, but
for a long moment, I don’t do anything. I simply watch the people in front of
me, observing the usual detachment in each of their empty faces.

No one says anything. No
one even looks at each other. Everyone minds their own business, just as
they’re supposed to.

Bile rises in my throat,
but I urge it back down.

“Don’t stand out. Blend in.
Remain invisible,”
I whisper.

Taking a deep breath, I
step aside from the station entrance to focus on the task at hand. I peer down
at the silver watch on my wrist, and a mumbled curse escapes my lips when the
numbers ignite across the mirrored face.

The clock is ticking.

There’s no time to waste.

I glance up, careful to
avoid eye contact with anyone who passes. My nerves are tingling as if they’re
on fire, and my stomach is twisting into an uncomfortable, tight ball. A surge
of anxiety is beginning to creep up on me when I catch sight of a guidepost a
short distance away. Breathing a sigh of relief, I hurry toward it, taking
another breath to compose myself once I’ve figured out where I have to go.
Straightening up, I fall into formation with the other people around me.

The main road continues for
many miles, but the building I’m looking for isn’t far from the station at all.
A few minutes’ walk at most.

Step after step brings me
closer to my destination and my heart pounds more violently with each moment
that passes. I swallow, trying to settle the uneasy feeling in the pit of my
stomach, but the feeling only continues to grow. It gets larger,
heavier
,
and the weight of it nearly crushes me when I finally stop walking.

My heart drops when I
glimpse the massive stone sign in front of me. It seems to grow up from the
ground, looming as ominously as the building behind it.

W. P. Headquarters. The
workforce placement educational facilities where the rest of my future is about
to be decided. I suppose you could say this building is the foundation of our
society. Every person—regardless of who they are—has to come through here, one
way or another. From our early days of education up until our twenty-first
birthday, at which time a single exam determines the rest of our lives. Pass it
with flying colors and move on to your designated career. Fail it and receive a
one-year imprisonment as punishment for lacking discipline, followed by a
lifetime of the worst jobs imaginable—and not only in terms of pay.

I inhale, swallowing the
lump that’s begun to rise in my throat.

You can do this,
I tell myself.

Breathing out, I
reluctantly trudge forward through one of the revolving glass doors.

The interior of the
building is just as dreary and cold as the world outside. Everything is gray,
made of metal and glass, and security cameras line the top of every wall. At
least a dozen people stand in front of me, waiting in line to gain entry to the
building.

More beeps. More
turnstiles.

The line gradually
shortens. I rock onto the balls of my feet when I feel that familiar tingling
beginning to course through my legs. Transferring my weight, I shift ever so
slightly to peek around the person ahead of me. As I move, something out of the
corner of my eye abruptly grabs my attention, freezing me in place.

I hesitantly look up at a
large television embedded in a nearby wall. On its screen, is footage showing
what appears to be the aftermath of a fire or bombing. Some people are
screaming. Others are covered in blood. Dead bodies can even be seen littering
the ground.

I strain my ears to hear
what the broadcaster is saying, all the while trying to appear disinterested.
Luckily, one of the security guards—apparently also intrigued by the news story
showing—chooses this exact moment to raise the volume.

“Thirty-two are reported
dead in the devastating attack on the Justice Building in Zone 1. Although
there are no leads as to the motive behind the attack, it is believed to be the
work of the renowned terrorist group, PHOENIX. Anyone with information
regarding the group’s whereabouts is urged to come forward, whereas any citizen
found to have been involved with this rebellious act will be branded an enemy
of the State and executed.”

I quickly look away from
the screen. That uneasy feeling returns to the pit of my stomach, but I force
it away, focusing on the line as it begins to move forward. From this point on,
I keep my eyes fixed ahead of me.

Before I know it, I’m at
the front, standing face-to-face with a squat middle-aged woman.

“Name,” she says without
looking up at me.

“Wynter Reeves,” I answer.

“Identification chip,” she
grumbles.

I hold out my right arm and
watch as she moves a scanner over my wrist. A tiny light at the top of the
machine turns green. It beeps once. She then grabs my finger and inserts it
roughly into a small metal device. It stings for a brief moment when she pricks
me for blood, but the pain is gone almost instantly.

“You’re all clear,” she
grunts with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Another beep as the
turnstile in front of me opens. I walk through it at once, my pace quickening
as I make my way toward the glass doors up ahead.

My reflection stares back
at me as I grip the metal handle. The surface is cool to the touch, sending a
shock through my body when I pass into the main reception. An older man sits
behind a large marble desk. His head is down, his unblinking gaze glued to the
computer in front of him.

I approach him
slowly—afraid of disrupting the silence that surrounds us. It’s eerie, and in
many ways, I feel like an intruder amidst the hush. I try to be light on my
feet to avoid unnecessary attention, but in spite of my best efforts, the man
lifts his eyes before I’ve even taken two steps.

“Name and purpose of
visit?” he asks.

“Wynter Reeves,” I murmur.
“I’m here to sit my placement exam.”

“Identification chip.”

Holding out my arm, I watch
as he repeats the same process from before. The little light turns green as the
machine beeps. I glance up at him, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he
double-checks my information on the computer—another check to make sure that I
am who I say I am. When he seems satisfied with what the database is telling
him, he hands me a small laminated badge.

“The examination is on
Floor 5,” he says. “The elevators are on your right.”

I cast a brief look over my
shoulder before turning back around to thank him for his trouble.

My legs are shaky as I
walk. Fortunately, no one is around to notice, and the elevators are only a few
steps away.

I press the call button. A
light above the steel doors begins to glow, and I use the time to fix the
visitor’s badge to the front of my shirt. My fingers are uncoordinated, and I
nearly drop it several times, probably due to the apprehensive feeling still
lingering in my gut.

I’m only on my own for
about thirty seconds before a number of other people gather around the
elevators as well. I can tell without looking that they’re the same age as I
am, which means we’re all here for the exact same purpose. But, as to be
expected, no one says anything. No one even looks at each other.

When it really comes down
to it, we’re all in this alone.

When the elevator finally
arrives, everyone files inside. I’m the first one in, and I take it upon myself
to press the button for the fifth floor, desperately hoping no one else will
see that my hands are shaking. One of the last people to enter the elevator is
an older man who presses the button for the fourth floor. Other than that, no
one moves. Everyone is silent. Everyone is still, calmly waiting for the same
moment that I’m personally dreading.

The metal doors close, and
I can feel the change around us as the elevator ascends to the next floor. For
some reason, it feels painfully slow—as if the journey is being drawn out for
the sole purpose to torture me.

I peer at the floor numbers
as they light up above the door. One by one, they come to life, the bright glow
illuminating our metal surroundings. It’s only now that I glimpse the camera
hanging from the ceiling. It seems to stare back at me, the red light on its
side continuously blinking like an eye. I shift uncomfortably, feeling as if
it’s watching me.

As if
they’re
watching me.

I nearly jump back when the
doors open for the fourth floor. I wait until the older man steps out of the
elevator before peeking up at the security camera one last time.

It’s only a moment before
the doors open to the fifth floor. Since I was the first one in, I’m the last
one out. But I don’t mind. Those extra few seconds give me time to compose
myself.

Another reception desk
awaits me when I leave the elevator. When I reach the front, I find that it’s
more of what I already went through before.

“Name?” a shorthaired woman
asks me.

“Wynter Reeves,” I answer
for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Identification chip,” she
requests.

I offer her my arm,
scrutinizing her face as she scans for the chip embedded beneath my skin. The
light on the machine turns green, but she double-checks my information anyway,
just like the man did downstairs. Several moments pass before she addresses me
again.

“The examination will be in
Room 3,” she says. “Down the hall, on your left.”

She gestures with her hand,
and I don’t waste any time following her direction down the corridor. Room 3 is
the second room I come across. There’s a short line of people standing outside
of it, and I notice the cause of the delay when I see the monitor attached to
the wall beside the door.