Page 122 of Whispers in the Dark
Tristan, James and James’s neurosurgery team stood by, tense and silent in full surgical garb. Paul stood on the other side of the room, prepping additional fluids to assist anesthesia and the circulating nurse.”
“He’s stable enough for now,” James said, voice tight. “These electrodes are synced to core brainstem functions. One wrong move, he codes on the table.”
“Can’t we just jam the signals?” Paul asked. “Buy more time?”
James shook his head. “We’ve already blocked the signal. Temporarily. But the implants are still pulsing internally; they’re adapting. That means whatever technology this is, it’s learning. It’s evolving inside him. My guess, this is some form of AI.”
Tristan cursed under his breath. “Then we pull them. We get them out.”
Charlotte and Noah stood with Paul just beyond the sterile line. James limited it to two visitors, and Noah and Ethan flipped a coin to be there. Charlotte’s eyes never left Alex.
“He’s not going to survive another surge,” Noah said quietly. “He’d want us to do it.”
James’s gaze met theirs across the room. “Once I start, I can’t stop. If there’s a spike, if his vitals crash, if he hemorrhages—there may be no way back.”
Charlotte stepped closer, hands clenched at her sides. “Then don’t let him crash.” Noah made her sit with him on rolling stools.
James turned to Tristan. “Let’s do this. Position him on his belly.”
5:14 a.m.
Scalpel in hand, James made the first incision at the base of Alex’s skull. The room held its breath.
“Retractor.” He pulled back the soft tissue. “Locating the first node.”
Tristan leaned over the neuro-mapping screen, one used for Parkinson’s disease and brain tumor removal. “It’s embedded between the C2 and C3 vertebrae, anterior side.”
6:30 a.m.
James worked with the calm of a man in the eye of a hurricane, every move deliberate. “There. I see it. Pulsing. It’s not just electrical; it’s biochemical. Synthetic neuro-gel coating.”
The small metallic disc was no larger than a dime but was anchored into Alex’s spinal cord like a parasite. Faint, rhythmic pulses lit from within.
Paul’s voice cut in, “Heart rate’s dropping—42.”
The anesthesiologist prepared to administer drugs to raise his heart rate.
“Damn. It’s stimulating a vagal response. Clamping node contact,” James said. “Micro-extractor.” As he moved to isolate the node with a gentle touch, Alex’s body convulsed violently.
“He’s crashing,” Paul shouted. “BP dropping, pulse falling—he’s coding!”
“Count it down. Give me sixty seconds!” James barked. “Do NOT touch him. I’m pulling the first node.” The beeping on the monitor slowed more.
Watching behind the OR’s sterile line, Charlotte prayed quietly, Don’t go. Please—don’t go. She gripped Noah’s hand. They were not allowed to get any closer.
With a delicate twist and clamp, James culled the first wire clean from the upper implant. Blood spilled, but his assistant was already irrigating and suctioning.
“Don’t push epinephrine,” Paul called out. “The instructions said no epi.”
The anesthetist pushed vasopressin into the IV. “He’s in V-fib. He needs defibrillation.”
“Flip him; we’re going on three minutes,” Paul yelled.
“I’ve got exposed spinal tissue, and the other wire is still attached,” James shouted.
“Sterile dressings!” Tristan yelled.
“Flip him. We’re three minutes, thirty seconds in,” Paul reminded everyone.
