After a moment of confusion, the doctor walked around the front of the table and showed Gripp the tracker. It was at the center of his bright blue gloves, a metallic object that slightly resembled a bug. It had little flecks of blood remaining on it from being lodged so long directly next to his spine.
He stared at it for a long time, and the doctor eventually cupped the tracker and walked away.
“You are no longer being tracked, Mr. Johnson,” the doctor said. “We are going to stitch you up, and you are free to go.”
Gripp nodded and remained still as the doctor closed the small cut. He was told that it may ache a bit later, but he was a shifter, and his body would be able to absorb the pain faster than humans.
He sat up from the table and rubbed the back of his neck, running a finger up and down the incision line. He needed to feel it to know that it was actually true. Having the chip inside him so long within the Supermax prison always made him fearful that someone, especially the government, would have a trick up their sleeve and find a way back to him.
But he felt nothing beneath his skin that shouldn’t be there. As far as he could tell, no one was tracking him, and he could freely shift.
He looked at his hands and let himself morph into his panther form briefly, fingers curling into claws and black hair sprouting from the depths of his epidermis.
Shifting back, he said, “Thanks, Doc.”
“Oh, Mr. Johnson, one more thing.”
Gripp rolled his eyes, then turned back, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “What?”
“The general would like to see you,” the doctor said, snapping off his gloves. “I believe you know the route?”
Gripp turned, squeezing his fists together as he left the room, muttering to himself.
“Not so free just yet.”
Gripp moved down the hall toward the general’s office with April deliciously on his mind. It had only been a few days since he’d seen her, but he ached for her touch, her voice, her laugh. That feeling must mean something.
Gripp knocked on the door and heard the general’s stern voice. “Come in, Gripp.”
He walked in to find the general with her feet up on her desk, looking comfortable and satisfied.
“Welcome home, Mr. Johnson,” she said, hands clasped on her lap. “Please, have a seat.”
“I’m not staying long,” Gripp huffed. “What is it that you want? I finished the mission, and I’d like to take advantage of my freedom for the time being.”
The general smiled, not catching the bait of his irritation.
“I’ll cut to the chase then … you know about the Elite Force that Cannon Dez is the head of?”
Gripp nodded. He had heard about other shifters coming from Supermax and joining up with Cannon. But it would all be under the general, and that wasn’t something Gripp would be thrilled about.
“I’m offering you a position within the force,” Nydia said. “You can go back to Eblax and be stationed there, helping out the newly established government we are setting up.”
Gripp cocked an eyebrow and sighed. “That you are setting up?”
She nodded, smiling widely. “We are going to officially regulate the mining and clean up every shit crevice we can find. No more kidnapped children.”
Gripp dug his fingers into his palms. His plan was to go back to Eblax and help the people, particularly the children he felt a kindred suffering with. But he wouldn’t do it under the watchful eye of any government that had placed him in the hellhole that was the Supermax in the first place.
He raised a hand in the air and shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going there and doing things my way.” Gripp spun around, eager to leave the room as hastily as possible.
“It’s because of the girl, isn’t it?”
Gripp turned back with a severe scowl, ready to chew out anything the general had to say about his precious April. “She’s a woman, not a girl. What of it?” he snapped.
The general shrugged, maintaining her smug grin the entire duration of their meeting. “No reason,” she replied. “You be sure to let me know if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” Gripp said.