Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1) by M. A. Phipps Read Free Book Online Page A

the corner
of one eye, I notice Dr. Richter walking toward me. He stops about a foot away
from the right side of the table, and his eyes are fixed on mine the entire
time. He only looks away long enough to dismiss the two women with a single nod
of his head. They make a few final adjustments to the straps holding me down
and then move away, leaving me alone with him.
    “Are you ready?” he asks
me. His gaze is overpowering.
    I take another deep breath,
preparing myself. “That depends,” I murmur. “What are you going to do?”
    “I want to recreate the
experience you had at W. P. Headquarters. Hopefully, that will be enough to
prove whether or not you are who I believe you to be.”
    And if it isn’t? I want to ask, but I can’t
find the words.
    “How do you plan to do that ?”
I ask instead, trying to distract myself from the troubled feeling in my
stomach.
    There’s an indecipherable
emotion in his eyes. It seems to shine, glistening with anticipation. It’s
obvious that he’s enthusiastic about the possibilities standing before
him—about the advancements in science he might soon discover. Still, I can’t
help but wonder if he’s even remotely concerned about me. Or if he cares about
the potential price for him to meet those very possibilities face-to-face.
    A price, I alone will have
to pay.
    “We’re going to inject you
with an inhibitor that will slow down the normal functions of your brain,” he
explains. “Once the inhibitor has set in, we’ll send magnetic signals to a
localized part of the occipital lobe, where we believe the visions stem from.
If all goes according to plan, that will stimulate a response, which will
replicate what you experienced before.”
    And if it doesn’t go
according to plan? What then? But I’m too afraid of the answer to ask.
    My eyes lift to meet his. I
barely understood a word of what he just said, but I grasped enough to come up
with one final question.
    I swallow, suddenly feeling
nauseous. “Will it hurt?” I whimper. My voice is practically nonexistent.
    He smiles down at me as he
gently places his hand on my shoulder. “You’ll feel a minor discomfort at most.
Nothing to be concerned about.”
    I’m not consoled by his
words.
    He seems to realize this
because a moment later he adds, “You’re doing the right thing, Wynter.” The
squeeze he gives my shoulder is a bit firmer than necessary, and his eyes
linger on mine for an uncomfortably long moment. Then, he turns away, directing
his attention to a nearby computer.
    I try to ignore my pounding
heart and concentrate on the ceiling above me instead. I count the lights and
tiles, but every attempt to distract myself only ends in failure. All I can
truly focus on is my increasing apprehension.
    Leaning my head back, I
take another long breath to try to steady my nerves. I almost manage it until
one of the female attendants appears beside me once again. She grabs my hand
and proceeds to wipe something cold and wet across my skin.
    “You’ll feel a slight
pinch,” she says.
    I wince when she inserts a
needle into my vein. A second attendant stands next to her, setting up an IV
near my head. It only takes about a minute in total. When everything is hooked
up, the first attendant grabs a large, ominous-looking syringe.
    She glances over at Dr.
Richter. “Everything is ready,” she tells him.
    He doesn’t say anything. He
doesn’t even make eye contact with anyone in the room. I watch him carefully,
wary of his silence. A moment later, he turns to face me, and a shudder of
panic rushes through my body when his fingers pull down the front of my gown. I
begin to struggle against the restraints, but they refuse to budge. He doesn’t
seem to notice. Either that or he simply chooses to ignore my resistance as he
attaches a few circular pads to my chest.
    My body relaxes as soon as
I realize what he’s doing. Within a matter of seconds, the sound of my
heartbeat projects from the monitor beside me.
    Dr.