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Knotty reading!
I lean into the nameless Subject's past, ignoring the fuzzy edges of my vision and focusing on the skyscrapers blocking out the bright blue sky.
Sweat trickles down my back.
People push past us, rushing to their destination as though the commute wastes their time. My heart squeezes as bittersweet memories rise. I lived a similar life before hell reached up and swallowed me. Shoving the distractions away, I flex my fingers into her arm and sink into the wrongness of her.
We walk down the sidewalk. Trapped in her viewpoint, I take in what she once took for granted. Through the fog of time, I hear my voice as I read the frame around the nearest billboard.
"Baseon."
We turn onto a new street and hurry onto the city transporter. The harsh red light over the door blinks.
"Bain Avenue and Fifth Street." My voice filters into my ears as though from a long, empty tunnel.
We hike our purse higher onto our shoulder before grabbing the nearest handle hanging from the ceiling.
It's wrong. She's too tall. I could never reach the fabric loops, no matter how hard I tried. I had to brace myself with my stance or cling to the railing if I were lucky enough to be near the wall.
My wayward thoughts end as the train glides forward.
Something is wrong. The rate of acceleration feels off. We glance out the window and note the glare of the setting sun off the buildings before dread clenches our guts.
My lower back aches as my left leg jumps out of control, knocking my knee against the machine connected to the woman.
"Wrong. Too fast."
We tighten our grip on the handle and lean around the elder beta male standing beside us. Two figures reach for each other, their hands outstretched. Tiny and delicate, the conductor doesn't fit the world around her, swamped by a civilization built for betas. The woman she reaches for has lush brown hair and stands a full head taller.
"One omega. One beta. Reaching. They want—"
White light and searing heat blast through every cell in our body, decimating any semblance of good left in the world.
"Pain. Heat. Light."
Vomit climbs into my throat as I fight the urge to yank my hands away from the test subject's flesh, every part of me demanding I run far, far away from whatever comes next.
"Give us more, Subject 733."
The far-off voice makes my nausea worse. It doesn't belong in the memory, but there's no way to ignore them.
"Fire roars. Blue eyes. Dead."
We stare into the conductor's glazed eyes, sensing zero life within her petite body. Our own muscles refuse to respond, our eyelids too tight to blink and the whole of our body a mangled heap of burnt flesh. With a labored inhale, we fill our lungs with poisoned air.
أنت تقرأ
Freed and Filled
العاطفيةOne signature. That's all it took for my life to be turned upside down. Now I belong to the ISC. At least, that's what I thought, until they shoved me into the cell of a giant, hyena-like alpha with a possessive streak and filthy sense of humor. He...
