Chapter 17 – Beneath the Skin

The cabin's silence became suffocating.

Calen stood in the middle of the room, holding the chip between two fingers, as if it were both salvation and curse. Noah's gaze shifted between him and Alek, who hadn't moved since hearing the words:

"The system will come online."

"What the hell does that mean?" Noah asked.

Calen sighed. "It means there's a failsafe buried deep inside Alek's spine. They can activate it remotely. Turn him into a puppet."

Alek's voice was flat. "You're saying I'm a ticking bomb."

Calen nodded slowly. "Exactly."

Noah stepped between them. "Then take it out."

Calen hesitated. "It's not that simple."

"You said you have the key."

"I do. But… it's not just a chip. It's wired to his nervous system. If we do this wrong, it could paralyze him. Or worse."

Alek didn't flinch. "Do it."

"No," Noah said immediately. "You're still recovering."

"I'd rather die on my feet than wake up one day not knowing who I am."

"No one's dying," Noah snapped. "There has to be another way."

"There isn't time," Calen warned. "Once the signal starts—there's no stopping it. He'll be lost."

Alek sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "Then let's not wait."

They cleared the table.

Stripped it down to wooden planks.

Noah laid out whatever tools they had—old tweezers, alcohol, a flashlight, some thick thread and needles.

It looked like a butcher's setup.

Calen stood beside it, rolling up his sleeves. "We'll have to go in through the scar near C7. It's where they wired the implant into the upper spine."

Alek lay face down on the table, shirtless, jaw tight.

Noah knelt beside him, fingers brushing over his shoulder blade.

"I'll be right here," he whispered.

"I know."

Calen disinfected his hands. "We don't have anesthetic. You know what that means."

Alek didn't answer.

He just gritted his teeth.

And nodded.

The first cut was shallow—more pressure than pain.

But the second?

Alek's entire body seized.

Noah held his hand, tight. "Breathe. In. Out. Stay with me."

Alek's breathing came ragged, sweat pooling at his brow.

Calen worked fast, peeling skin back, careful not to nick the wrong nerve.

Then he paused.

Found something.

Alek gasped. "Did you—?"

"I see it," Calen confirmed. "It's fused into the nerve clusters. Just like mine was."

Noah swallowed hard. "Can you get it out?"

"I can try."

He reached in with the tweezers.

Alek screamed.

His legs kicked involuntarily.

Calen paused. "If I pull it wrong—"

"Do it," Alek spat. "Now!"

Calen tightened his grip.

Noah braced Alek's head.

Then—

With a flick and a wrenching twist—

It came loose.

Alek convulsed.

Noah cried out. "ALEK!"

But Calen caught him.

Held the chip up. Bloodied. Still faintly blinking.

"It's out."

Alek lost consciousness for six hours.

Noah didn't leave his side once.

He changed the bandages. Kept him warm. Whispered his name.

Over. And over.

"You're still here. I'm still here."

He wanted to scream. Cry. Break something.

But instead—he stayed.

Steady.

Present.

When Alek finally stirred, it was past midnight.

"…Noah."

"I'm here."

Alek looked at him, blinking slowly.

Then he managed a weak smile. "Still pretty."

Noah laughed through tears. "You almost died, idiot."

"You'd miss me."

"No. I'd find you and kill you."

They both laughed—exhausted, aching, but alive.

Later, Calen sat at the edge of the porch, staring up at the stars.

Noah joined him.

"You didn't have to come back," Noah said.

"I owed him."

"Because you were like him?"

Calen nodded. "I was worse."

"…how many more like you are out there?"

"Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Enhanced, implanted, sleeping."

"And what happens when they wake up?"

Calen turned to him.

"They'll hunt what they were told to hate."

Noah's stomach turned.

Alek was one of the lucky ones.

For now.

Three nights passed.

Alek healed faster than expected—but slower than he wanted.

He hated being idle.

So Noah kept him distracted—with questions, stories, touches.

"Tell me about your first memory."

"…A needle."

"That's grim."

"It gets better. My second memory was… a dog. She used to follow me in the compound. I fed her scraps."

"What happened to her?"

Alek looked away. "She died during an obedience drill."

Noah didn't press.

Just slid closer and rested his head against Alek's shoulder.

"You're not there anymore," he whispered.

"I still feel it."

"Then let me remind you of now."

That night, Noah kissed Alek with purpose.

Not desperation.

Not pity.

Just love.

He straddled him slowly, warm fingers tracing the edges of stitches and scars.

Alek kissed him like he needed him more than air.

They moved with aching tenderness—every touch, every gasp a reminder that they'd survived.

Together.

When Noah sank down onto him, Alek gasped—eyes locked, breath stolen.

There was no shame.

Only hunger.

And something deeper.

Need.

Noah moved slowly—each motion deliberate, deep, worshipful.

Alek's hands gripped his hips like he couldn't let go.

And when they both came undone, it wasn't loud.

It was soft.

Like the sound of chains breaking.

The morning after, Calen handed Alek a device.

"What's this?" Alek asked.

"A scanner. Modified. It picks up residual frequencies."

"For what?"

Calen hesitated.

Then said: "We're not the only ones who've been activated."

Alek's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"I picked up a pulse. Two nights ago."

"Where?"

"North. Near a city."

"What kind of pulse?"

"The kind that matches your signal."

Alek stared at the device.

It pulsed faintly—red.

Noah appeared in the doorway, sensing the tension.

"What's wrong?"

Alek didn't look up.

He just said quietly:

"They're waking up."