Chapter 11 · Bad Blood

"Stop shaking, you idiot, or I'm going to carve the chip out of your skull myself!" Rook's voice was a jagged blade, cutting through the ringing in my ears.

She had me pinned against a rusted coolant tank, her forearm pressed hard against my windpipe. I couldn't breathe, and it wasn't just because of her. Inside my chest, the Gene-Eater was screaming. It wasn't a sound—it was a vibration, a glitching frequency that made my ribs feel like they were being rewritten in real-time.

"Can't... stop... it," I wheezed, my fingers clawing at her sleeve.

"Then fight it!" she snapped. Her face was inches from mine. I could smell the metallic tang of her blood and something sharp, like ozone. Her eyes were wide, frantic, but her grip was iron. "You're glitching. If you lose control now, you'll tear through me and everything in this room. Is that the plan? Just become a mindless piece of scrap?"

I tried to answer, but a spasm ripped through my left arm. A sickening *crack* echoed in the small corridor. My skin split open—not a cut, but a rupture—and a sliver of jagged, iridescent chrome pushed through the dermis. It wasn't a tool.