Page 183 of Villainous Rise

“And a real doctor did that one?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes, actually. A proper ophthalmologist with terrible ethics but excellent surgical skills. He retired to a private island shortly after. Unrelated, of course.”

“You’re still not telling me everything,” she said finally, crossing her arms.

This woman would be the death of me—or at the very least, the death of all my secrets. I weighed my options, going through the risks and benefits in a fraction of a second.

“Fine,” I conceded. “There’s one more.” I hesitated, then added, “It’s the Tinkerer’s Hammer.”

Annie’s expression shifted instantly to shocked. “The Hammer? You implanted the Hammer? Inside yourself?” Her voice rose with each word, ending on a note that made me wince.

“I modified it,” I explained, extending my right arm and tapping on the spot it was located. “I miniaturized the core components and integrated them directly into my skeletal structure. The Hammer itself is now essentially part of me.”

Annie’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide.

“This way I don’t have to worry about not having it when I need it,” I continued, flexing my fingers as the energy from the Hammer flowed through them. “I can access and control it with just a thought. The physical Hammer was just a conduit, what mattered was the energy matrix inside it. I’ve simplified the interface and improved the efficiency by about 300 percent.”

“The Tinkerer’s Hammer is inside you?” Annie finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I replied matter-of-factly. “Is this a problem?”

“You put...” she started, then stopped, shaking her head slightly. “You took one of the most powerful artifacts in the world and surgically implanted it. Into your arm.”

I shrugged. “It seemed like the most practical solution.”

Annie spun away from me, her body language transforming from shock to fury in an instant. She began pacing back and forth across my lab, her steps quick and agitated. Each turn was sharp, her hands gesturing wildly as her voice rose.

“Are you completely out of your mind?” she demanded, not waiting for an answer. “You put experimental technology inside your body? Multiple times? Without proper medical supervision?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off with a slashing motion of her hand.

“No! Don’t you dare try to explain this away with some genius-level rationalization bullshit!” Her eyes flashed dangerously. “You implanted the Tinkerer’s Hammer—one of the most powerful and unpredictable artifacts in existence—into your arm like it’s some kind of upgrade for your computer! Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

She spun to face me, her cheeks flushed. “You could have died! The Hammer could have destabilized, or your body rejected it, or—or— I don’t even know! Did you even consider that before you decided to play mad scientist on yourself?”

“I calculated the risks—” I began.

“Oh, you calculated the risks,” she mimicked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, that makes it all better then! Cipher calculated the goddamn risks before performing experimental surgery on himself with fucking stolen technology!”

She resumed pacing, running her hands through her hair. “And those other implants? At nineteen? You built a robot to cut into you and place foreign objects into your body? What kind of—” She seemed to struggle for words strong enough. “—reckless, self-destructive behavior is that?”

I stood frozen, genuinely unsure how to respond. I’d anticipated surprise, maybe concern, but not this level of emotional reaction.

“You’re so brilliant,” she continued, “and so damn careless with yourself. It’s like you don’t even—“ She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips together. Her voice caught on her last words, and I realized she was on the verge of tears.

“You don’t even care if you hurt yourself,” she said, her voice breaking. “You see something you want to do, and you just do it. Consequences be damned.”

I moved toward her, reaching out to pull her close. “Annie, it’s not like that.”

She shoved against my chest, hard enough that I actually took a step back. “No,” she snapped, tears now visibly welling in her eyes. “You can’t just charm your way out of this.”

“I’m not trying to⁠—“

“Listen to me,” she interrupted, jabbing a finger toward me. “This,” she gestured wildly at me, “not caring if you hurt yourself or kill yourself is a deal breaker for me.”

A deal breaker. The phrase triggered a cold spike of panic. Losing her was unacceptable. I would slaughter half the city before I let her walk away from me over a piece of hardware in my arm. But the realization that she was threatening to leave because she actually cared about my survival paralyzed me.

“I do care,” I said quietly. “But I’ve never had to consider how my choices might affect someone else.”