Unleashed Read Online Free

translucent substance that fuses to the skin, making them virtually undetectable.
    â€œWe have reason to believe she’s been contacted by a sworn enemy of Diotech and that she might have information we need,” Raze explains.
    â€œWhat information?”
    He purses his lips, as though he’s trying to decide how much to divulge to me. “We won’t be sure until we learn what she knows.” He motions to the box.
    I pull it toward me and remove one of the scanners, pressing it against my fingertip. It tickles as it fuses to my skin and disappears into my flesh. “You want me to transesse to 1609 and scan her memories,” I say in sudden realization.
    He nods.
    I shake my head. “Nanoscanners require physical contact to operate. How am I supposed to get close enough?”
    Raze smiles. “Don’t worry. We have a plan.”

6: Imprisoned
    Transession three feet across a lab is one thing. Transessing five hundred years into the past is another. I was warned by Director Raze that I would feel disoriented, maybe a little dizzy. But when I arrive behind the church next to Newgate Prison, I have to lean against the stone structure to support my failing legs as I gag and retch up half of my morning meal.
    My stomach is looping and convulsing, my head is aching, and every time I try to focus on something, my vision blurs. It takes about an hour for me to feel normal again. Fortunately I left myself enough time to orient to the temporal relocation and the sickness that comes with it
    Did Dr. Alixter really do this when he went to find the girl?
    My body is strong and advanced and built to withstand almost anything. I can’t imagine what transession would do to a frail, normal body.
    Once the nausea has died down, I brace myself for another jump and transesse into the private chambers in the back of the church. These are the offices of Pastor Thomas, the priest assigned to hear the girl’s last confession, according to the historical archives.
    This jump is small and doesn’t require a time displacement so it’s significantly less debilitating.
    The priest is sitting at a rich mahogany desk, scribbling longhand into a thick leather-bound book that lies open on his desk. The floor creaks beneath my sudden weight but he doesn’t lift his head when he hears it. “Yes, my child?”
    A part of me wants to study his movements, his speech, his choice of words. If I’m going to replace him, I’ll have to be convincing. But the other part of me—the impatient part—wants to get this over with quickly.
    My impatience wins.
    In less than a blink, I am behind him. My legs move faster than he can register. He barely has time to look up before my elbow is crushing his windpipe. The air wisps out of him as I squeeze. My muscles are tempted to finish him completely, as they’ve been built to do, but I can hear Director Raze’s voice in my mind: “Don’t kill him,” he warned me before I left. “We don’t want to set off a disastrous chain of events by altering history.”
    I release the pressure and his body wilts. He falls headfirst against his desk. I feel his pulse. It’s weak but there. He will wake up in a few hours with a horrific headache, made worse by the distorted, choppy recollection of what happened to him. Not to mention the confusion of being mysteriously disrobed.
    I close the chamber door and bolt it with the lock. Then I get to work undressing him. I don his long, white-collared black robe over my clothes, pulling the sleeves down to cover the genetic implant on my wrist and the hood down to block my face. The less anyone sees of me the better. I check that my nanoscanners are secured to my fingertips and then place the cube drive in the pocket of the robe.
    I access the memory of the prison blueprints that Sevan gave me in an upload. With a breath to steel myself against the imminent disorientation, I close my eyes