The email body loaded. Plain text. No signature. No greeting.
Just words that made my pulse kick hard.
Listen carefully, because I’m only saying this once. Delete that forum post. Delete your account. Scrub every trace of those X-rays from the internet and burn whatever device you used to upload them.
You think you’re being clever? You’re not.
That chip? It’s not a medical device. It’s worse. And the people who implanted it will want it back.
Blackout, I know who you are. The chip is the least of your problems. What they did to make you compliant? What they stole from you, and what you did for them, that’s the real horror show.
And you, American nurse playing hero? You’re already tagged. Clare Bolton, formerly of Boston General. Nice work on the VPN layers, by the way. Very YouTube tutorial of you. Unfortunately, hospital networks keep better logs than you think.
So here’s what happens next if you don’t listen: Best case scenario? They find you, kill you both, make it look like a murder-suicide. Worst case? They take you alive. Put you on a table. Do to you what they did to him.
Delete. The. Post.
Or don’t. Your funeral. Literally.
, Someone who actually knows what they’re talking about
Silence filled the room.
Clare’s breathing went shallow. Fast. Her hand trembled on the trackpad.
“They know my name.” Barely a whisper. “They know... they know where I worked.”
Her face had gone white. Actually white, color draining like water.
“They know...”
She twisted toward me, terror I’d never seen before written across her face. Not in the alley. Not when the cops came. Not even when I killed those men.
This was different.
This was her realizing she wasn’t harboring a fugitive. She was a target.
“Oh my God.” Her voice pitched higher. “Oh my God, they know my name, they know Boston General, they know.”
She stood abruptly, nearly knocking the laptop over. Started pacing. Three steps to the window, three steps back. Breathing too fast.
“How long? How long have they been watching? Since the hospital? Since I brought you here? Are they outside right now? Are they...”
I grabbed her wrist gently. Pulled her back down.
Breathe.
I wrote it fast, shoved the pad at her.
But her pulse hammered, rabbit-fast. Visible in her throat.
“Blackout.” Her voice cracked. “They called you Blackout. That’s... that was the name you rejected in the alley. Before Xavier.”
I nodded slowly.
“And they know about me. Specifically. Not just ‘some nurse’, they know my full name, where I worked, ...”
She pressed both palms against her eyes. Breathing ragged.
