Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(15)

“No, I didn’t!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying. I mean, I did implant a device in your brain,” he concedes with a guilty look, “but it isn’t the same kind as Black-O soldiers would get—or the temporal master devices that Census agents use to control them. It’s completely diff—”

I snatch a fistful of his hair and drag him up to his feet. He leaves his flashlight on the ground. I seethe, still holding his hair so that he’s bent sideways with his neck wrenched. “You violated me!”

“I had no choice.” He winces in pain. “If I didn’t operate on you, they would’ve killed me and gotten someone else to do it! Another lab tech would’ve implanted a standard VPMD into you, and then you’d be mind-controlled, unable to resist them, just like everyone else.”

“That’s what I am now!”

“Not for long. I gave you a weapon! You just used it. You’re awake, and your strength—it’s unbelievable. Cyborgs are strong because they’ve been torn apart and rebuilt to make them that way. You—something’s happening to you.”

“What’s happening to me?”

“It’s biotechnology. I not only enhanced your adrenal glands to improve strength, but I improved your heart, lungs, and other organs so they can withstand it without frying out.” He removes a thin disc from his black uniform pocket. He touches the device to his temple, and a green light on it winks.

Let go of me, Roselle, Ransom’s voice booms in my mind.

My fist, entwined in his hair, opens on what seems like its own volition, letting go of him. I hold my hijacked wrist with my other hand and take a few steps back. Flexing my fingers, I find it has returned to normal—mine to control once more.

“You can control me with a thought.” My disgust for what he’s done to me leaves me feeling sick. “I’m your puppet!”

Ransom straightens. “I can control you only until you stop me. You’re growing stronger by the day—strong enough to wake yourself up.” He doesn’t sound upset about it. On the contrary, his words hold a note of pride in them. Still holding my errant wrist, I take another step back from him. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking in the direction of the space I’d occupied a few moments ago. It dawns on me why.

“You can’t see me, can you? Am I invisible or something?”

His face turns toward the sound of my voice. He lets out a small sigh before his lips form a grudging smile. It’s gone in seconds, but my heart pumps harder because Reykin has the same smile. “No, you’re not invisible. It’s pitch black in here. I can’t see you because my eyes aren’t special, like yours. Your vision has been enhanced. I can’t see anything without my flashlight, but you can see in the dark.” He points to the dim light of his flashlight on the catwalk.

“Don’t you have an implant, too?”

“I do, but mine’s different—temporal like the Census agents’, but unlike theirs, which are almost omnipotent, a lab-tech implant only gives me limited control over most implants and never any control over Census agents. Rumors are swirling that we’ll have even less control soon—the artificial intelligence within Spectrum is evolving . . .” He trails off as a worried crease between his eyebrows deepens.

I hold my palm up near my left eye. Nothing shines on it. “Why don’t I have the silver shine?”

“You were programmed for hibernation with the rest of your Black-O squadron. You’re not active right now, so your eye wouldn’t have a silver shine, but you can’t go by that anyway. The Black-Os’ silver glow can be turned off remotely so that the soldiers avoid detection. Census usually only turns the silver light of a Black-O’s eye on when they want their soldiers to terrify their victims.” My mind reels. I barely hear him add, “But your implanted device’s silver light is a simulation anyway—nothing more. Your moniker is different as well. It can be changed to reflect anything we wish. It can project a Black-O hologram, or a silver sword a moment later—or any of the symbols from any of the Fates, in any birth order.”

“I’m—” My voice is weak. I swallow hard before continuing in a stronger tone, “So I am one of them—a Black-O?”

“Yes,” he replies with a worried look, “and no. At least, you were part of the collective consciousness we call Spectrum up until a few moments ago. It’s an augmented reality controlled by Census through AI technology—but that’s just the surface of what it is. It tailors programs specifically for everyone within its web so that you never even know your reality has been altered. Then it uses your mind and your body at will. No one, once unified, has ever escaped from it . . . until you.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“I’m not part of Spectrum . . . yet. It won’t be long, though. I’m becoming obsolete. It’s only a matter of time before they kill me.”

“Kill you? Why wouldn’t they integrate you, too?”

“It’s not efficient. They’d have to change my technician’s implant—swap it out. The procedure would probably kill me anyway, and why would they go through the trouble when they believe their programs to be cleverer than I am already? I may have a way into their world, though. It’s a huge risk—a last resort.”