Page 77 of Anders
THE SCENT OF ANTISEPTICburned Etta’s sensitive nose as she sat on the examination table in what had once been the Sunburst Pack’s medical suite.
With the help of several members of the pack, the space had been restored overnight into a sterile environment that would have rivaled any hospital operating room.Equipment hummed softly in the background, monitors displaying vital signs she only partially understood.
Dr.Weiss stood before her, his weathered face serious as he studied the three-dimensional scan of her neural interface projected on the screen beside them.A wolf shifter in his mid- to late fifties, the Moonstone Pack’s doctor still moved with the easy strength of a shifter in his prime, his thick black hair peppered with gray, deep smile lines around his eyes suggesting a kinder demeanor than his current expression revealed.
This is unlike anything I’ve encountered before,he said, his voice deep and thoughtful as he zoomed in on a section of the device embedded at the base of her skull.Similar principles to some military prototypes I’ve worked with, but much more…elegant.More invasive.
Etta suppressed a shudder at the wordelegant.Nothing about the metal parasite attached to her nervous system felt elegant.It felt like violation, like a piece of Chimera still living inside her, monitoring her every move, waiting to kill her when she least expected it.
Anders stood beside her, his body radiating tension even as his face remained impassive.To anyone else, he might have appeared calm, professional—the guardian assessing a security threat.But through their bond, Etta felt his fear, his rage, his desperate hope that Dr.Weiss might offer salvation instead of only impossible odds.
Can you remove it?Anders asked, his voice exposing none of the emotion Etta sensed roiling beneath the surface.
Dr.Weiss didn’t answer immediately.Instead, he turned to Etta, his eyes kind but unflinching.I need to conduct a more thorough examination first, if that’s all right with you.
Etta nodded, grateful for the courtesy of being asked permission.After so many years of having no control over what was done to her body, even this small acknowledgment of her autonomy felt significant.
The examination was uncomfortable but not painful, thanks to the neural blockers Anders had administered.
Dr.Weiss used some kind of handheld scanner that emitted a soft blue light, passing it slowly over the back of her neck and skull.The device connected wirelessly to his tablet, where data streamed in real time, painting a more detailed picture of the interface’s integration with her nervous system.
Throughout the process, he asked questions about her symptoms, her shifting abilities, the memories she’d recovered.Etta answered as honestly as she could, though some details remained hazy—fragments of a life stolen from her, pieces still missing from the puzzle of who she truly was.
When the examination was complete, Dr.Weiss set his equipment aside and pulled up a chair to sit facing her and Anders.His expression was grave, and Etta felt her heart sink.
She didn’t need enhanced senses to recognize bad news when she saw it.
I’ll be direct,he began, his tone gentle despite the clinical nature of his words.The neural interface is more deeply integrated with your central nervous system than I initially thought.Its primary purpose appears to be twofold: controlling the shift response and facilitating remote access to your cognitive functions.
Mind control,Etta translated flatly.
Dr.Weiss inclined his head.In essence, yes.But it’s the method that concerns me most.The device uses nanoscale filaments that have essentially grown into your neural pathways.They’ve become part of you, in a very real sense.
Anders’s hand found hers, his fingers warm and steady as they interlaced with her own.
The chemical suppressants you were given served multiple purposes,Dr.Weiss continued.They dampened your shifter nature, yes, but they also maintained a biochemical environment that allowed the interface to function without rejection.Now that those chemicals are breaking down…
My body is trying to expel the interface,Etta finished.She’d known this already, had felt it happening—the increasing pain, the fever, the erratic partial shifts as her wolf fought against the foreign technology.
Precisely.Dr.Weiss pulled up another image on his tablet, this one showing areas of inflammation surrounding the device.Your immune system sees it as an invader—which it is—but the problem is that after all these years, the interface has become so integrated with your nervous system that your body can’t attack one without attacking the other.
So if it stays, it kills me,Etta said, voicing the conclusion she’d already reached.And if you try to remove it…
There’s a significant risk of permanent neural damage.Paralysis, loss of cognitive function, even death.Dr.Weiss’s clinical assessment hovered between them.
Anders’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly on Etta’s hand.
What are the odds?Anders asked, keeping his voice level.If you attempt removal.
Dr.Weiss considered the question carefully before answering.Based on what I’m seeing, without intervention, complete system failure within five to seven days is almost certain.With the removal procedure I’m considering…He paused, weighing his words.I’d give you about a sixty percent chance of survival, with perhaps a forty percent chance of full recovery without significant impairment.
And the other possibilities?Etta asked, needing to hear it all, to understand exactly what she was facing.
Varying degrees of neural damage,Dr.Weiss answered honestly.From minor motor skill issues to more severe cognitive impairment.The interface has tendrils near yourspeech centers, your memory functions, your coordination pathways.There’s no way to remove it without affecting some of these areas.Maybe all.
Etta nodded, absorbing the information with a strange sense of calm.
After everything she’d endured—the loss of her family, her identity, her very self—facing the possibility of death or disability seemed almost manageable by comparison.
