The silence in the warehouse was heavy with the weight of a surrendered crown. Donny's head fell back against the cold steel of the surgical table, the "thrum" of the implant vibrating through his jaw. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The slow, rhythmic nod was the hardest thing he had ever done—it was the moment he invited the Viper into his own skull to save the people outside the door.
"Wise choice, 4492," Vance's voice purred. "The neighborhood needs its King. Even if he's just a ghost in the machine."
The Silent Pact
Donny closed his eyes, centering himself. Vance was a master of systems, but he didn't understand the "Old Block" bond. He thought he had isolated Donny, but Donny knew Lou and Johnny. He knew that for five years, they had watched him more closely than any surveillance camera ever could.
He trusted them. He trusted that they would see the micro-tremors in his hands, the way his pupils didn't dilate quite right, or the subtle shift in his vocabulary. He trusted them to realize that if the King was lying, it was because someone had a knife to his soul.
The Release
Two hours later, the "Sanitizers" dumped Donny in the shadow of an alleyway three blocks from the 8th Street Clinic. His head was pounding, a dull, localized ache where the micro-balloon sat dormant. He felt the cold air on his skin and the grit of the pavement under his palms, but he didn't feel free.
He stood up, his legs shaking. The "Coil" gave a tiny, warning pulse—a 2% "reminder" that made his left eye twitch.
"Walk," the voice whispered in a tiny earbud he'd been forced to wear. "Lou is at the corner of 8th and Main. He's looking for you. Remember the script, Donny. You had a fugue. You wandered. You're fine."
The Encounter
Lou saw him first. The massive man had been pacing the sidewalk like a caged grizzly, his eyes wild with a mix of fury and terror. When he spotted Donny's silhouette stumbling out of the shadows, he didn't cheer. He froze.
"Donny!" Lou roared, covering the distance in seconds, his heavy boots thudding against the asphalt. Johnny was right behind him, his tablet still glowing with the traced "Blackout" data.
Lou grabbed Donny by the shoulders, his grip tight enough to crush a normal man. "Where were you? We went to the clinic, we saw the scuff marks—"
Donny looked at Lou. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Lou's hand and press it against the surgical scar hidden under his hair. But as the thought formed, the "Coil" hissed. A sharp, localized needle of pain stabbed his thalamus.
I... I'm okay, Lou," Donny managed, his voice sounding thin and practiced. He looked directly into Lou's eyes, trying to put every ounce of "HELP ME" into his gaze while his lips moved to the Warden's rhythm. "I had an episode. The doctor... he gave me some bad news about the old injury. I just started walking. I didn't know where I was for a few hours. I'm sorry I worried you."
The Trace of Truth
Johnny stepped up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Donny's face. He saw the way Donny's left eye was slightly lagging. He saw the drop of dried blood behind the ear that hadn't been there on Friday.
"A fugue?" Johnny asked, his voice low, testing the air. He held up his tablet, showing the looped security footage. "The clinic's cameras were hacked by professionals, Donny. That's a hell of a coincidence for a 'wandering' episode."
Donny felt the Coil's warning thrum intensify. It was a 5% vibrate now—a growl in his brain.
"I don't know about cameras, Johnny," Donny lied, his heart breaking as he saw the flicker of doubt in his friend's eyes. "I just know I woke up near the docks and realized I'd missed the BBQ. Let's just... let's go home. Sarah is going to kill me."
Lou didn't let go of Donny's shoulders. He felt the way Donny was trembling—not from cold, but from a high-frequency internal vibration. He looked at Johnny, and a silent communication passed between them that Vance's sensors couldn't pick up.
He's lying. And he's terrified.
"Yeah," Lou said, his voice dropping into that deep, "Old Block" rumble. "Let's get you home, King. You look like you've been through a war."
As they walked toward the car, Donny felt the Warden's digital presence receding, satisfied with the performance. But as Lou helped him into the backseat, his hand lingered for a split second too long on Donny's neck, feeling the abnormal heat coming from the base of his skull.
The war for Blackwood hadn't just moved to the streets. It had moved inside the King's head.