Chapter 11 The Procedure

Ryan Cross - POV

The university medical center's procedure room feels smaller than the operating theaters I've observed during my pre-med rotations. Emma lies unconscious on the narrow table, monitoring leads attached to her chest and temples while an IV drip maintains her sedation. Kane insisted we work alone—no nurses, no attending physicians, just the two of us in this sterile box.

My photographic memory catalogs every detail of Kane's supposed "stabilization protocol" while I prepare the stereotactic frame. The coordinates she provided will target Emma's posterior parietal cortex, but my research into enhanced neurology suggests those measurements are deliberately imprecise.

"Position the cranial frame exactly as marked," Kane instructs, adjusting the overhead lamp. She's wearing surgical scrubs but moves with the confidence of someone more experienced than any graduate student should be. "The neural mapping must be perfect."

I secure the frame around Emma's head, my hands steady despite the calculations racing through my mind. The research I accessed through Blake's government contacts painted a different picture than Kane's proposal. Her "stabilization" procedure will sever Emma's psychic pathways permanently—not limit them, destroy them.

"Initiating cranial access," I report, using the electric drill to create the burr hole. The high-pitched whine fills the small room as I penetrate Emma's skull with millimeter precision. Through our psychic bond, I sense her unconscious mind stirring despite the sedatives.

Kane moves closer, observing my technique with clinical interest. "The neural probe needs to reach exactly 4.2 centimeters depth. Any variance could cause permanent cognitive damage."

But I've memorized different coordinates—ones that will enhance rather than eliminate Emma's abilities. The formula I synthesized replaces Kane's inhibitor compound with neurotropic factors that should strengthen synaptic connections instead of severing them. It's experimental, dangerous, but the alternative is watching Emma become a hollow version of herself.

"Probe insertion complete," I announce, threading the thin electrode through brain tissue toward the target site. Emma's EEG patterns spike irregularly, showing activity that shouldn't exist under anesthesia.

Kane checks the readouts with satisfaction. "Perfect positioning. Administer the stabilization compound now."

My finger hesitates over the injection trigger. This moment will determine Emma's future—limited but safe, or enhanced but unpredictable. Through our bond, I feel her subconscious trust in my medical judgment.

I inject my modified compound instead of Kane's inhibitor.

"Injection complete. Monitoring neural response."

The EEG trace explodes into patterns I've never seen in any textbook. Emma's brain activity doesn't diminish as Kane expected—it amplifies. The psychic bond between us intensifies beyond anything I've experienced, creating pathways that feel like synapses firing directly between our minds.

"Something's aberrant," Kane says sharply, studying the monitors. "Neural activity is increasing exponentially."

I maintain professional calm while privately marveling at the data. "Initial hyperactivity is documented in neurotropic therapy. The stabilization effect requires several minutes to establish baseline."

Then it hits me like a freight train.

Physical sensation floods my nervous system for the first time in twenty-three years. Not my own pain, but Emma's. The drill site burns along my scalp. The cranial frame pressure feels like my skull is being crushed in a vise. Every nerve ending I've been unable to feel suddenly screams with borrowed agony.

My legs buckle. I grab the equipment table to stay upright, instruments scattering across the floor.

"Dr. Cross?" Kane's voice sounds distant through the overwhelming sensory overload. "What's your status?"

I can't respond. Can't explain that Emma's enhanced psychic connection is overriding my congenital inability to process pain signals. The intensity of borrowed sensation drives me to my knees beside the procedure table, gasping.

Through our amplified bond, Emma's consciousness reaches toward mine with crystalline clarity. Her awareness should be completely suppressed by anesthesia, but my enhancement compound has awakened abilities beyond my projections.

Ryan. Her mental voice resonates directly inside my thoughts. I can see what she really is. Kane isn't human.

The telepathic message hits me like electrical current. Through Emma's enhanced perception, I glimpse Kane's true nature—energy patterns surrounding her that my medical training recognizes as bioelectric fields associated with psychic ability.

Kane has been concealing enhanced capabilities while manipulating all of us.

"The procedure is failing," Kane announces, but her voice carries harmonic overtones that weren't there before. Subliminal frequencies attempting to influence my decision-making processes. "We need to administer the secondary protocol immediately."

She reaches for another syringe filled with clear fluid that makes my enhanced medical knowledge scream warnings. The compound's molecular structure, visible through Emma's amplified perception, matches neurotoxins designed for complete neural destruction.

"Negative." I force myself upright despite pain still coursing through our bond. "Patient response is within acceptable parameters."

Kane's expression hardens. "Dr. Cross, I'm issuing a direct medical order. Administer the secondary compound immediately."

But I can perceive her now through Emma's enhanced abilities—psychic energy swirling around Kane's cerebral cortex like invisible fire. She's been hiding enhanced capabilities while orchestrating this entire situation.

"You're psychically enhanced," I state, the diagnosis cutting through her deception like a scalpel. "You've been concealing your true nature from everyone."

Kane goes perfectly still. The subliminal pressure against my mind intensifies, but Emma's amplified connection provides partial shielding from the telepathic assault.

"That's a dangerous misdiagnosis, Dr. Cross."

Emma's consciousness pushes against the anesthetic restraints with growing strength. Through our bond, I feel her preparing to regain full awareness. But premature awakening during an open cranial procedure could cause massive neural trauma.

Kane must sense Emma's stirring consciousness. Her hidden psychic abilities shift focus, becoming a mental sledgehammer attempting to force Emma back into unconsciousness.

"Maintain sedation," Kane commands, her concealed powers finally revealed as she tries to override Emma's awakening mind. "Sleep until we complete the procedure."

But Emma's enhanced neural pathways resist the telepathic attack. The EEG readings spike beyond the equipment's measurement capacity, and through our connection, I feel her abilities exploding beyond any documented scale.

Every monitor in the room shorts out simultaneously. Not from equipment failure, but from psychic energy overload that Emma's amplified brain is generating.

In the sudden darkness, Kane's voice carries lethal certainty: "You have no comprehension of what you've just unleashed.”