Page 49 of Artificial Moon

I raise my foot, presently sporting my sweet New Balance sneakers, and slam my foot down onto the computer equipment. The shell implodes as I proceed to stomp the living hell out of the computer. Anything stored on the computer is gone, unless the bastard stored itself on the cloud or something.

Like I know what that even means.

Mostly, let’s hope that Norm didn’t get out.

Meanwhile, the cyborg is kicking and screaming on the other side of the shell, a helluva good tantrum, if you ask me.

I’ve released the wires, that I presume are still attached to his head. Allie is right. I have to be careful. I don’t want to hurt Norman the man. From inside the shell, I command the doctor outside to carefully disengage the wires from Norman.

“Okay, Allie. All done.”

But she doesn’t hear me; after all, it takes a lot of concentration to stop bullets and keep other immortals at bay; instead, I place my hand on her quivering shoulder, summon the single flame, and head back to her place, this time in her living room, on the couch, which is where we appear, shield and all. Once she sees where we are, she lowers her hand and the force field disappears.

“That was terrifying, Sam.” She slumps against me.

“You did good. Mission complete.”

We sit like that for a few minutes until she stops shaking.

Chapter Twenty-six

Norm sits in the dim cabin, his jaw clenched so tight it feels like his teeth might crack.

The room still hums with residual energy from the force field that had shielded Samantha Moon and Allison from the hail of silver bullets his men had fired. The once-meticulous setup—the machines, cables, escape plan—is in shambles.

His fists tighten at his sides as he stares at the disconnected equipment. It was going so perfect, too. He had the surgeon; he had the tech; he had thetime. But Samantha Moon ruined it all.

All because they had to shift his headgear ever so slightly to operate on his skull.

That witch, Allison Lopez, really is powerful if she could detect him with just the slightest exposure of his skull.

Yes, Sam and her friends truly are worthy foes. But he knew that, of course, having read her many adventures. There isn’t much, seemingly, that can stump her.

Norm takes a slow, measured breath. Getting angry won’t fix this.

Adapt and evolve.

That’s what he’ll do. That’s what Sam does. He’d seen it firsthand. She uses her resources to find answers.

Then, he’ll use his resources, too, dammit.

The plan had been so simple: transfer his consciousness to a machine and break free from the frail, flesh-and-blood prison that the FBI—and Andrew York—was so eager to reclaim. Sam had severed his link before the process was complete. But maybe… maybe it wasenough.

He turns toward the remaining hard drives, his mind racing. Could fragments of him—pieces of his thoughts and memories—still exist within them? Would it be possible to recover them? If so, he might still have a path forward.

A sound outside makes him tense. The others—his hired wolves and vampires—are still keeping watch, but for how long? Sam will be back. He knows it. She won’t leave him here to make another move. She has seen this space. He knows that’s all she needs: to come teleporting back.

Think, damn it.

He had planned for this, at least in theory. He needs more equipment. Simple as that. Where his crew had found this, they could find more.

Maybe a wireless connection would be best, after all.

No surgeon needed.

Path of least resistance.

Sam will be back for him. He has minutes at most.

---