33. Thirty-Three Cam
Thirty-Three: Cam
I towered over the zip-tied bastard, his phone a dead weight in my hand. Thus far, he had been pretty uncooperative, with all the information we had so far coming from Rose.
"Password," I growled, swiping at the locked screen. No dice.
Beaver just laughed, a wheezy chuckle that set my teeth on edge. I tried his limp finger on the sensor. Nothing.
"You think this is funny, asshole?" I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. "Let's see how much you're laughing with a few less teeth."
My fist connected with a satisfying crunch. Blood spattered, painting Beaver's chin a lovely shade of crimson. He grunted and spat out a couple teeth. Satisfaction curled in my gut. Fuck this asshole.
"Ooh, hit him again, baby," she purred. "Right in that smug little mouth."
I paused, a lightbulb going off in my fucked-up brain. He’d been eyeing our little flower ever since she walked back in the room. Almost like someone who had caught a bad case of the feelings. Rose's patient number... worth a shot. My fingers flew over the keypad.
Bingo. The screen lit up like Christmas morning.
"Well, well," I drawled, scrolling through the contents. "Looks like someone's got a crush on our little Rosie."
Lakey's brow furrowed. "What'd you find?"
I held up the phone, showcasing a map dotted with blinking lights. Each one labeled with a patient number, including our girl.
"Seems like he was telling the truth. Chimera's keeping tabs on all their lab rats," I muttered, a sick feeling settling in my gut. How many more were out there, scared and alone, like Rose was?
For a split second, I pictured her gaunt, pale face when we first found her. Christ, she was just a kid. Twenty years old and already put through hell. I don’t know why that bothered me. Lakes and I had probably been through worse. Lakey for sure, losing her kid like that. I couldn’t really remember much about my time. Just a brief flashback… more of a feeling, really, that I’d been in that lab before.
I shook off the unwelcome pang of... something. Guilt? Nah, couldn't be. Sociopaths don't do guilt.
"How many?" Lakey's voice was uncharacteristically soft.
I counted quickly. "Twenty-seven. All over the fucking map."
Beaver started thrashing against his restraints, desperation etched on his battered face. "You don't understand," he wheezed. "Those people need us. We're trying to help—"
I silenced him with another punch, harder this time. "Sure, pal. Real humanitarian work you're doing."
Lakey's arms snaked around my waist, her cheek pressed against my back. "What do we do now, baby?" she whispered.
I stared at the blinking dots; each one a life Chimera had fucked with. Pretty soon we’d be overrun with strays if I didn’t reign in this savior complex that I was clearly developing.
"We figure out how to turn off these goddamn trackers," I growled. "Starting with Rose's."
As I dug deeper into Beaver's phone, a nagging thought wormed its way into my brain. What would we do if we couldn’t turn it off? She’d become a bigger liability. Leading more of these fucks right to our door. But I couldn’t just chuck her on the street like trash —she’d become like a little sister to me. Fuck. Morality had never been my thing, and yet here I was, answering the age-old question: save yourself, or save a someone else?
I felt Lakey's fingers dig into my hips as she leaned around me, propping her head under my arm, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Holy shit, Cam," she breathed, her voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. "There’s a couple close to us. Maybe we can go get ‘em. Add them to our pound."
I chuckled, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "Looks that way, sweetheart. But no, we aren’t going to go get them. No point if we can’t turn this fucking tracker off."
Lakey's laugh was sharp and cold. "Oh, goody. I do love a challenge."
We exchanged a look, and I saw the same dark thrill in her eyes that I felt coursing through my veins. This just got interesting. Sometimes the danger just finds us, and we don’t even have to leave our apartment. Kind of nice for a change— having it brought here, I mean. Like a delivery service for murder. Murder-gram? Nah. Skip the Hunt. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. Murdery delivery services by Lakey and Cam. You want ‘em, we got ‘em.
Beaver must have sensed my internal distraction. He started squirming again, his voice taking on a whiny edge. "Listen, I can help you. I know things — important things. If you let me go, I can —"
I cut him off with a dark chuckle, turning away from the phone to face our captive. "Oh, you're gonna help us alright," I said, crouching down to his level. "But I don't think you understand your situation here, pal."
With deliberate slowness, I tightened the zip ties around his wrists. Beaver hissed in pain as they cut into his flesh, cutting off his circulation. With any luck, his hands would just fall off.
"See, you're not leaving this room until we say so," I continued, tapping the phone on the counter as I thought. "And how much pain you experience in the meantime? Well, that's entirely up to you and how cooperative you decide to be."
As I spoke, I couldn't help but marvel at how easy it was to slip back into this role. The charming psychopath, the ruthless interrogator. It felt like putting on a favorite, well-worn jacket.
But there was something different this time. A nagging voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like Rose's. It whispered that maybe we could use this situation to do some good for once.
I pushed the thought aside. One step at a time. First, we needed answers.
"Now," I said, locking eyes with Beaver. "Let's start with you telling us everything you know about these neural chips.
I swiped through Beaver's phone as he grunted, refusing to answer my question, my eyes narrowing as I uncovered more about the tracking system. Each new detail helped the puzzle pieces click together. They even had tracking systems on their operatives, though they were labelled with four numbers and had a letter denoting some kind of hierarchy system. That begged the question, they wouldn’t just let anyone have this information, so who the fuck was this guy to them?
"Fuck me," I muttered, scrolling through a list of coordinates. "They've got these bastards tagged like animals. All of them. Including the operatives."
Lakey clicked her tongue in disapproval. "What else you got there, sugar?"
Before I could answer, the floor creaked behind me. Rose had moved towards Beaver, her eyes darting between us. She’d been so quiet, I’d forgotten she was even in the room. Excitement wrapped around me, the gleam in her eye darkening the closer she got to him.
"Well, look who's joined the party," Lakey chirped, her smile razor-sharp. “Want another shot?”
Rose straightened her back, chin lifted. "That man," she said, jerking her head towards Beaver, "he told me he loved me. Said he'd save me."
Oh, sweet little flower. No mommy or daddy to tell you that men were dogs. This fucker was just playing the long game, and his time clearly ran out to shoot his shot.
"Did he now?" I sighed, turning to face our captive. "Ain't that sweet. You hear that, Beaver? Sounds like you've been playing Prince Charming."
Beaver struggled against his bonds; face contorted. "Rose, baby, you don't understand—"
"Shut it," I snapped, my voice like ice. To Rose, I said softer, "He played you, sweetheart. But we're gonna make it right. I suppose no one taught you that men will say anything to get in your pants."
I caught Lakey's eye, saw the gleam there. We were on the same page: this fucker was gonna pay.
Funny how things change. A week ago, I wouldn't have given two shits about playing hero. It was one of my girl’s favorite things to sarcastically call me when I played her protector. But now? Looking at Rose, something had fundamentally changed. Like maybe there was more to life than just me and Lakes against the world.
Christ. I couldn’t figure out if this made me stronger or weaker. But as I watched Rose's shoulders relax slightly; I couldn't bring myself to care.
Did that mean I wasn’t a psychopath? Or did that mean that I was capable of caring about someone if I considered them mine? Something to file away to research later when I had time.
Lakes sauntered over to Rose, her usual lithe gait softening. It was like watching a lion try to play nice with a lamb. Fucking surreal.
"Oh, honey," she sighed, placing her hand on Rose’s shoulders. "Men are such lying bastards, aren't they?"
Rose's eyes fell to the floor before looking up again as they filled with tears, uncertainty written all over her face. "I... I thought he cared. He… he’d sneak into my cell at night and tell me he loved me. He brought me extra rations. Tried to make sure they picked the other girls for the more corrective punishments. How… how can he lie? He said he’d save me."
"That's what they all say," Lakey sighed, patting her arm. "But don't you worry. We'll take good care of you."
I couldn't help but smirk. Lakey playing the protective mama bear was a sight to behold. It made me realize that I wanted to get her daughter back. There was not a single woman out there that could have as many different personalities as mine, and yet somehow still pick the right one when the need arose.
Meanwhile, Beaver was putting on quite the show. "Rose, please! I do love you! This is all just a misunderstanding!"
I rolled my eyes. "Save it, Romeo. Your act's about as convincing as a three-dollar bill."
Lakey sighed loudly and dramatically, putting her fists on her hips as she pointed the gun at him, her finger playing with the trigger. We needed a game plan, and fast. Before she decided to jump the gun —literally— and end it before we got to the meat and potatoes.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," I called to her. "Got a sec?"
We walked into the kitchen, where I could stay in eyeshot of our prisoner. "Those trackers… they look like they also track the people we want to go after. We could use that to save us time finding Sister Anne and Father Christopher." I muttered, thinking of all those blinking dots on Beaver's phone. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and we can match the numbers up to Skeet’s info in his laptop, so we don’t shoot in the dark at who is who. Chimera might even be one of them, though I doubt he’d be so stupid.”
“Chimera could also be a she, Cam. Why you always gotta be so damn sexist? Besides, we don’t even know if Chimera is a person. Might just be the whole fuckin’ network. More stupid shit to figure out. Another day, I suppose.” Lakey exhaled, her eyes rolling back into her head. "But. Agreed. That chip in Rose's head? That's gotta go."
"My thoughts exactly," I grinned. "Time to play neurosurgeon?"
Lakey's answering smile was downright wicked. "On Beaver? I can’t wait. I’ve always loved that operating board game and now I can try it out in real life. What a fantastic turn of events."
I chuckled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement. We were in way over our heads, but damn if it didn't feel good to have Lakey by my side. My ride or die.
“Can I do it babe?” She said, practically vibrating from excitement as she played with her karambit. “Pleaaaaase.”
The way she looked at me with those big eyes made me want to say yes. “Let me do a quick lookie loo on the laptop, go through the phone and we can see what we find. If you feel confident, then yes, but… Lakes… you can’t go in like a bull in a China shop. This is kind of a one-shot deal. If you fuck up, we lose the only chance we have at practicing.”
Lakey nodded, grabbing the phone from my hand as I plopped my ass down in front of the laptop, cracking my knuckles. Time to see what kind of tracking shit Skeeter had hidden in his digital closet. My fingers flew across the keys, digging through encrypted files, like a kid in a candy store. All this time going through this hard drive and I’d barely scratched the surface. Half the time I didn’t even know what I was looking for, but with this tracker info, it would cut my manual search time drastically.
"Fuck yes, thank you Skeets," I muttered, pulling up a folder labeled 'Implant Procedure'. What an idiot. You’d think he would at least try to be stealth. Though, I suppose he hadn’t planned on fucking dying.
As I scrolled through diagrams of brain surgery that would make Frankenstein squeamish, I felt my stomach do a little flip. Not from the gore — hell, I'd seen worse — but from what this meant for Rose. This was complicated. Dangerous. If I made one wrong move… it was game over. As much as I loved Lakey, this wasn’t something she could do. Her impatience would frustrate her.
"Fuck me sideways," I sighed, running a hand through my hair and over my face.
Across the room, Lakey was doing her own digging, her pretty little head bent over Beaver's phone. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and I couldn't help but admire the way her eyes lit up when she found something juicy.
"Hey, Cam," she called out, her voice tight. "You seeing what I'm seeing? This… isn’t good."
I glanced back at my screen, wanting to see what I missed. Scrolling down, I stopped. There it was, in black and white: 'Neural chip integration complete. Removal impossible without fatal consequences.'
"Well, that’s just lovely," I said, trying to mask the worry in my voice. "Looks like our little Rose has got herself a permanent dance partner."
Lakey's eyes met mine, a mix of frustration and determination swirling in the depth of her gaze. "We'll figure it out, babe. We always do. Worst case, if we open Beavers head and can’t, then I can do some lobotomy work. Wouldn’t that be fun? Having our own little zombie."
I chuckled at the thought.
A sudden commotion drew my attention. Beaver was thrashing around like a fish out of water, his zip-tied hands scraping against the chair as he tried to wriggle free. Poor bastard looked like he was about to shit himself. Rose towered over him, her fingers in his eye, pushing down as he pleaded for mercy.
Lakey watched with increasing fascination. She sauntered over, crouching down next to him with a smile that could cut glass.
"Aw, does someone feel a little icky?" Then she turned to Rose. “You know, if you wanted to pop that out, we could keep it in a jar for you. I’m sure there’s a homemade recipe for how to keep it good. Would you like that, Rose?”
I couldn't help but chuckle. Lakey had a way of making even the most fucked-up situations seem fun.
"Rose," I called out, tearing my eyes away from the spectacle. "C'mere a sec, sweetheart."
“Really, Cam? Right now? I wanted to watch her pull his eye out. Fucker always ruining my fun.” Lakey sat on the couch with a pout, crossing her legs in a flourish.
Rose approached cautiously, her eyes darting between me and Beaver. I softened my voice, trying not to spook her. "I need you to tell me about those sensations you've been feeling. The burning. When does it happen?"
Rose hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. "It's... it's not constant. Just every once in a while. Like a flash of heat at the base of my skull."
Something clicked in my brain. I glanced at Beaver, then back at Rose. "And when was the last time you felt it?"
"Just before... before he showed up," she whispered, nodding towards our captive. “And then when you pressed it.”
"Son of a bitch," I muttered, the pieces falling into place. "From what I gather from Skeet’s files, it’s not constantly active. Each one has a remote. The wire acts as some kind of antenna. Every time you felt that burn, this asshole was trying to pinpoint your location."
Lakey's eyes widened in understanding. "The button's an activator."
I turned to Beaver, my voice dripping with false sweetness. "Alright, buddy. Time for you to spill. Who else has access to these patients' locations?"
Beaver clenched his jaw, but fear flickered in his eyes. "It's... it's all stored in a central locator system. At headquarters."
"And where might that be?" I leaned in close, my breath hot on his face.
He swallowed hard. "I can't... I won't tell you that."
I chuckled, the sound dark and hollow. "Wrong answer, pal. Let's try something else. You got one of these fancy neural chips too? Your GPS suggests you do. I can see two blinking dots and we sure as fuck don’t have them."
Beaver nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Standard procedure after... after Patient X and Y escaped."
Lakey's laughter shattered his resolve as he flinched at the sound. It was that manic giggle - my favorite one.
"Oh, honey," she grabbed his hair, crouching down to Beaver's eye level. "You have no fucking clue who we are, do you?"
Beaver's eyes darted between us, panic rising. "You're... you're psychopaths. Murderers. A bulletin was put out on two nuts who were on a war path."
Her grin widened, all teeth and no warmth. "Oh, we're so much more than that, sugar. Cam, should we tell him?"
I matched her grin, feeling that familiar rush of power. "Why not? Might as well let the poor bastard know just how fucked he really is."
She turned back to Beaver, her voice melodic and chilling. "Guess what, chomps? You're looking at the one and only Patient X and Y. And babe, you are so, so fucked."
The color drained from his face, and I couldn't help but savor the moment. For someone entrusted with such valuable information, he was a bit slow in the head, wasn’t he? It was like watching a man realize he'd wandered into the lion's den wearing a meat suit. Part of me almost felt bad for the guy.
Almost.
My girl’s eyes lit up with that glazed over look I knew all too well. "Cam, baby," she purred, "let's put our new friend on the table. I'm thinking it's time for our little... impromptu surgery."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Now that's what I call a great idea, sweetheart."
Grabbing Beaver by his shoulders, I cut off his ties and hauled him onto the kitchen table. The guy was squirming like a worm on a hook, but he was no match for me. With a groan, I flipped him over, pinning him down. Rose was there in a flash, grabbing some new zip ties and fixing his arms to the table legs before attaching a few zip ties together and doing the same to his legs. He looked like a turtle all splayed out.
"Hold still, buddy," I growled. "Trust me, you don't want us to slip."
Lakey was practically bouncing with excitement, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "I've always wanted to play doctor," she giggled, reaching for one of her knives.
But something made me pause. If the remote was an activator, then theoretically we didn’t need to cut it out, but figuring out how to get it out would be useful. Either way, I caught Lakey's wrist before she could start carving.
"Hold up, sugar," I said, my mind racing. "I've got an idea. What if I can disable the tracker without cracking his skull open? Might be cleaner."
Lakey's bottom lip jutted out in an adorable pout. "But where's the fun in that?"
I grinned, pulling her close. "Tell you what. If this doesn't work, you get first dibs on the cutting. Deal?"
She sighed dramatically, but I could see the smile tugging at her lips. "Fine. But you better make it quick. You said I could do it and I’m not happy that you lied.”
“I didn’t lie, I just… you’re a bit impulsive, babe. We need to actually try to not kill him.” She huffed and crossed her arms, pinning me with a stare. Yeah, I’m gonna pay for that later.
Examining the back of his head, he too, had a small wire sticking out, hidden in his hairline. I tried to tug, but it wouldn’t give, only serving to make him scream.
“Sooo… we can cut his head open right?” As Lakey spoke, she grabbed a dirty sock off the floor and shoved it deep into his mouth. He gagged around it, his eyes watering.
Pretty sure I wiped baby juice off on that sock.
I took a deep breath, steadying my hand as I pressed the tip of the curved blade to Beaver's skull. His muffled screams were still pretty loud as I made the first incision. Blood welled up, warm and sticky against my fingers.
“Ugh, babe. You said I could do it.” Lakes pouted before leaning forward, putting her fingers into the cut and tugging on his scalp as I cut.
I sighed, holding the blade up and poked around, “Yes, babe, but as I already said… I’m kind of worried you’re just going to kill him and then we won’t know if we can disable it without causing death. So, when I’m done, then you can play Nurse Ratchet, okay?”
“Fine. But if you don’t let me play after I’m going to be very, VERY upset.”
Shaking my head, I sliced up, letting Lakey pulled his skin off his scalp by his hair and laying it flat against his head. He was thrashing around on the table, making it hard to cut with precision. It didn’t help that I was using a butterfly knife and not a scalpel, but semantics, really. A knife is a knife is a knife.
"Jesus, keep him still," I growled at Lakey, who had stopped helping me to watch as the blood dripped down his neck, splashing on the table and down onto the floor. Her fingers reached out, going into the wound and playing around in it. The squelching was fascinating, accentuated by his hollers. It was surprising that he hadn’t passed out yet, but it made it so much better that he hadn’t.
"Oh, hush," she teased, leaning in closer. "I’m doing what I can." But she came around behind me, crawled up onto the table, and sat on his back. Not sure what that would do since she was basically a paper weight, but at least it was more productive than just trying to stick her fingers in his head.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the smirk tugging at my lips. Even in the middle of amateur hour, she could still make me grin like an idiot.
As I peeled back the flap of skin a bit further, my breath caught. There it was - a tiny chip, drilled right into the base of his skull. It was a mess of wires running downwards toward the base of his neck, way more complicated than I'd expected. One wire stood out with a tiny red blinker beside it
"Shit," I muttered. "You watching that phone?"
"Why? You got something? I can’t see from up here. Your fat head is blocking my view"
I nodded, reaching for the wire cutters. "Let's find out."
With a deep breath, I snipped the wire at its base. For a second, nothing happened. Then Lakey's delighted laugh filled the room.
"It worked!" she squealed, practically dancing. "His little blinking dot just went dark. You did it, Cam!"
I let out a long, relieved breath, a rush of satisfaction flooding through me. "How about that," I chuckled, wiping the blood off my hands. "Guess I've got a future in neurosurgery after all."
Pushing my fingers into Beavers neck, I checked for a pulse. Yup. It worked indeed. Much easier than I had anticipated. Certainly easier than the manual made it out to be, but maybe that was intentional.
I sighed, wiping my hands on Beaver’s shirt. Now to decide what the fuck to do with our patient.