Chapter 17 · Live Round

Ryan woke up on the clinic floor with the smell of burnt plastic in his mouth.

His port was hot. Not warm. Hot. Like someone had shoved a soldering iron against the base of his skull and left it there.

He rolled onto his side and dry-heaved. Nothing came up. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely push himself upright.

The clinic lights were back on. Overhead fluorescents buzzing like they always did. The transformer hum was gone. The block wasn't burning. He'd done it.

And Natasha was sitting on the exam table across from him, one leg crossed over the other, watching.

"You're awake," she said.

Ryan spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Lucky me."

"That was impressive."

"That was stupid."

"Maybe." She tilted her head. "But it worked. Power's back. No fire. No bodies. You pulled sixty amps through a civilian-grade limiter and didn't blow your cortex out the back of your head."

Ryan pushed himself up against the wall and sat there, breathing hard. His leg was still numb. His ribs hurt. His port felt like someone had carved it open with a butter knife.

"Yeah, well," he said.