Night fell. The lights in the cell dimmed to a low, blue safety setting.
I waited until 2:00 AM. The looping algorithm was still holding, but I had to be fast. The battery on the jammer wouldn't last forever.
I moved.
I pulled a small, sealed packet from the lining of my duffel bag. Inside was a sterile scalpel blade and a vial of high-grade solvent.
I went to Julian. He was awake, watching me. He hadn't slept.
"This is going to hurt," I told him softly. "I can't use anesthesia. It would interact with the toxins in your blood and stop your heart."
He didn't argue. He seemed to sense that I was his only tether to reality.
I had him turn over. I straddled his back, my weight pinning him down.
I found the lump on his neck.
I applied the solvent to the skin. It was a transdermal numbing agent mixed with a corrosive that would eat through the bio-adhesive holding the chip.
Julian hissed through his teeth as the chemical burned.
"Almost there," I whispered.
I made a micro-incision. Blood welled up, dark and thick. I didn't dig. I used the magnetic tip of a specialized tool I'd assembled from the receiver components to draw the chip out.
With a wet pop, the chip came free. It was the size of a grain of rice, blinking with a faint red light.
I crushed it between my thumbnail and the floor. The light died.
Immediately, I poured the contents of the vial of antidote onto the open wound. The chemicals burned.
Julian let out a scream that he tried to stifle into the mattress. His body convulsed.
The seizure started. It was the withdrawal. His brain was rebooting, flooding with neurotransmitters that had been suppressed for years.
I held him. I wrapped my arms around his thrashing body, pinning him to the floor.
"It's okay," I whispered into his ear. "I've got you. You're safe."
I started to hum. It wasn't a song. It was a resonant frequency, a low, rhythmic vibration designed to entrain brainwaves and induce a delta state. I had learned it in a black-site recovery ward.
Hmm-mmm... hmm-mmm...
Julian stopped thrashing. His body went rigid.
His breathing hitched. The sound seemed to bypass his conscious mind and strike a chord deep in his reptile brain. His heart rate slowed, syncing with the hum.
He turned his head, sweat dripping from his face. He looked at me. The madness was receding, leaving behind a raw, terrified vulnerability.
"Safe?" he rasped. It was a question, not a recognition.
"Safe," I confirmed.
Suddenly, a siren blared in the distance. Not a police siren. A bio-monitor alarm.
"Damn it," I cursed. "The chip had a heartbeat monitor. They know it's offline."
I rolled off him instantly. I kicked the crushed chip under the bed. I wiped the blood on my black leggings.
Seconds later, the heavy steel door of the West Wing groaned open. I heard running footsteps.
By the time the night nurse and two armed guards opened the door to check on the noise, I was curled up in the corner, snoring softly.
Julian lay on the bed, his breathing even. He looked at the nurse, then at me.
He closed his eyes. For the first time in three years, he slept without nightmares.
