Tyrant

(𝟷𝟹) 𝙰𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚄𝚜

Any fogginess or haze from before is stripped away as I sit in dismayed confusion, processing Darcio's absurd statement. Trying to understand it.

Not understanding it.

"How can you not have a chip?" I say the words slowly, testing them on my tongue.

"I got it removed. By a remarkably skilled Healer here, who worked as a surgeon Before—was one of the best on the Continent, before everything happened." He tilts his head upwards, baring his bronze neck, and taps the center of his throat—with a closer look, I notice a thin, faint white line stretching horizontally, about two inches long.

I gape in disbelief and inspect that scar closer. "You—you don't have a chip." I repeat his words breathlessly.

"Many rebels that have been here a while don't."

I shake my head slowly, staring at the spot where the voice chip, a violation of a human's natural born right to speak freely, should've been. I involuntarily raise a hand to my own throat, wonder peeking out through the overflowing river of disbelief. Wonder, because it is actually possible to get rid of the filthy violation, get rid of The One's dirty grasp on our freedom of speech.

Still absorbing the information Darcio just unwittingly chucked at me, I ask, "Did it hurt?"

"Like hell. But it was more than worth it." Darcio pauses, consideration skipping in his eyes. "Let me warn you, though—you have to make sure the Healer knows what they're doing. A year ago, a rebel was accidentally killed by an inexperienced Healer who was removing her chip." He rubs at his jaw. "The Healer had punctured a major blood vessel, apparently. The girl bled out."

My fingers curl into fists at the unfairness of it—a girl set on finally getting the single freedom her heart yearns for, only to die in the process of gaining that reprieve.

Darcio crosses an ankle over a knee. "I wouldn't advise you to take that risk. You haven't been here long." Calm, steady words.

"I'll take whatever risk I wish to." I counter, the mere thought of being chip-less so enticing. Seductive. With the risks and all.

With the chip out, I could actually speak, express my emotions, about Before. I'd be happy merely conversing with myself about my parents and school and friends and—Caspian.

Miraculously reading the name in my head as if my mind projects thoughts, Darcio again steers the conversation into a different direction, temporarily shooing away talk of the chip. "So you know a Caspian?"

I halt a bit at his words that indicate he also knows a Caspian. Nodding my head, Darcio fiddles with one of his rings again—anxiously. He runs a bronze hand through his white hair. "Does his last name happen to be Rivo?"

I stop dead at that.

My wide eyes, my shallow breathing, give away everything. "You—you know him?"

"He lives here, at the Base."

The cot under me sways violently, like an unstable ship afloat in an unforgiving sea. I lean forward, forearms atop thighs, and stare at the white curtain ahead, not really seeing it.

Darcio braces a steady hand on my shoulder. "I had a hunch you were acquainted. Cas has been here almost three years—bears the position of Sympathizer." He watches me carefully. "He always mentioned a beloved best friend by the name of Phoenix Arbelle—though never said too much. He still has his chip."

I allow a single tear spill down my cheek, my heart swelling with care and affection for my friend who truly hasn't forgotten me, who truly hasn't let my memory fade away like ashes after a fire. The friend I had abandoned in cowardly fear, to fulfill a ridiculous plan that was created to be altered...