Rhodes Kissinger woke up to silence.
Not the kind of silence that brought peace.
No—this was the kind that screamed.
It was too quiet.
Too still.
He blinked rapidly—five times fast—but nothing came after it.
No twitch.
No grunt.
No sudden head jerk.
His body felt… wrong.
Empty.
Like someone had reached inside him and pulled out the rhythm that kept him alive.
He sat up slowly, heart hammering against his ribs.
The room around him was unfamiliar.
White walls.
Sterile air.
A single chair across from the bed.
And on it, a folded white robe.
He stood shakily.
His legs didn't tremble.
They should have.
But they didn't.
Panic surged through his chest.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't him.
He stumbled to the door.
Locked.
He pounded on it.
"Sara!" he called.
Silence answered.
Then—
A voice over the intercom.
Smooth.
Calm.
Familiar.
"Good morning, Rhodes."
Dr. Kessler.
Rhodes' stomach dropped.
"You son of a bitch," he growled.
There was a pause.
Then:
"You're adapting faster than we expected. That's good news."
Rhodes slammed his fist against the wall.
"No. No, this isn't what I wanted."
"You asked for understanding. We gave you control."
"I didn't ask for this!" Rhodes shouted.
Another tic should've followed—his usual vocalization, a sharp grunt that always escaped when he got angry.
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
Deadly silence.
---
Sara Wakes Up to War
Back at the studio, Sara Duckling bolted upright in bed.
Her tics were worse than ever—head jerking, eyes blinking rapidly, throat clicking with every breath.
She knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes.
Rhodes was gone.
The bed beside her was cold.
She scrambled to her feet, rushing to the window.
Their apartment overlooked the city, but tonight, the skyline looked different.
More lights.
More movement.
She grabbed her phone.
No messages.
No missed calls.
Only one thing missing.
Rhodes.
She ran to his side of the room.
Everything was gone.
His coat.
His keys.
His music journal.
All of it.
Except for one thing.
A note.
Handwritten.
Left on the piano bench.
"I had to go back."
—R.K.
Sara's hands trembled as she read it.
Then her body reacted—tic after tic wracking through her like an earthquake.
She clenched her fists.
Closed her eyes.
Took a deep breath.
Then she whispered:
"He went back to Kessler."
---
The Plan Begins
Sara didn't hesitate.
She packed quickly.
Grabbed everything she could use—her laptop, a burner phone, a recording device, and the only weapon she truly had:
Her voice.
She called in favors.
Reached out to people she trusted—activists, journalists, neuroscientists who had been following their work.
She sent out encrypted messages.
Shared coordinates.
Set up a meeting point.
Within hours, she had a plan.
And within the day…
She was on a plane to Norway.
---
Return to the Island
The island facility loomed ahead like a ghost.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Beautiful in its cruelty.
Sara arrived under the cover of darkness, slipping past security checkpoints using forged credentials and sheer determination.
She moved quickly, guided by instinct and rage.
Every step forward was fueled by the thought of Rhodes—alone, confused, possibly broken beyond repair.
She found the lab easily.
The same one.
The one filled with people wired into machines, their voices turned into music.
She scanned the room.
No sign of Rhodes.
Then she heard it.
A piano.
Playing softly.
From behind a closed door.
She pushed it open.
Inside was another chamber—smaller.
A soundproof booth lined with microphones.
And in the center…
Rhodes.
Sitting at a grand piano.
Head still.
Eyes blank.
Hands moving.
Playing.
Perfectly.
Sara's breath caught.
He didn't blink.
Didn't twitch.
Didn't move unless the music told him to.
She stepped closer.
"Rhodes?"
He didn't respond.
Just played.
She reached out.
Touched his shoulder.
He flinched.
Looked up.
Recognition flickered in his eyes.
"Sara…"
She swallowed hard. "What did they do to you?"
He blinked once.
Slowly.
"They fixed me."
Her stomach twisted.
"No," she said sharply. "They didn't."
He looked down at his hands. "I don't even feel my tics anymore."
She gripped his wrist. "That's not healing. That's erasure."
He met her gaze. "I wanted to understand myself."
"You wanted to be seen," she corrected. "Not erased."
He hesitated.
Then whispered, "I can't remember how to feel them."
Her heart shattered.
She knelt beside him.
Placed her hand on his chest.
"You still have a pulse," she said. "You still have a heartbeat. You still have you ."
He closed his eyes.
Then suddenly—
A tic.
Sharp.
Violent.
His head jerked sideways.
His breathing hitched.
He gasped.
Sara's eyes widened.
"That's it," she encouraged. "Feel it."
Another tic.
A grunt.
A blink.
Then another.
And another.
Rhodes let out a cry—not of pain, but of release.
As if something long-buried had finally clawed its way back to the surface.
Sara smiled through tears.
"There you are."
---
Kessler Strikes Back
Before Rhodes could fully recover, the door burst open.
Dr. Kessler strode in, flanked by two guards.
His expression was calm.
Unfazed.
"As touching as this reunion is," he said smoothly, "we have work to finish."
Sara stood protectively in front of Rhodes.
"Stay away from him," she snapped.
Kessler tilted his head. "You don't understand what we've accomplished here."
"We understand perfectly," Sara shot back. "You took the chaos out of him. You made him silent."
Kessler smiled. "We gave him peace."
Sara's jaw tightened. "Peace isn't silence. Peace is being allowed to be yourself."
Kessler sighed. "You're sentimental. And sentimental people make poor scientists."
Sara smirked. "Maybe. But we make great rebels."
Before Kessler could react, the lights flickered.
Then went out.
A second later, the power surged back on.
But now, the speakers roared to life.
Music.
Sara's voice.
Rhodes' tics.
Layered recordings of their duets.
Echoes of their past selves.
Kessler's eyes widened.
"What—?"
Sara grinned.
"My team uploaded the file," she said. "Live stream. It's broadcasting right now."
Kessler turned pale.
"Your research is going viral," she continued. "People are watching. Listening. Seeing what you've done."
Outside, alarms blared.
Footsteps echoed.
Security scrambled.
Someone had breached the system.
And now, the world knew the truth.
---
The Escape
Sara grabbed Rhodes' hand.
"Now or never."
He nodded.
They ran.
Through corridors.
Past stunned scientists.
Down stairwells.
Out into the night.
Behind them, the facility erupted into chaos.
Guards shouted.
Doors slammed.
Alarms wailed.
But Sara didn't stop.
She pulled Rhodes toward the cliffside.
Where a small boat waited.
Her escape route.
They dove inside.
She started the engine.
The boat lurched forward.
Away from the island.
Away from Kessler.
Away from the silence.
---
The Aftermath
Hours later, they were back on the mainland.
Safe.
Exhausted.
Alive.
Sara collapsed onto the dock, breathing hard.
Rhodes sat beside her.
Still trembling.
Still twitching.
Still himself .
He turned to her.
"I don't know how to thank you," he whispered.
She blinked rapidly. "You don't have to."
He reached for her hand.
She laced her fingers with his.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then he said, "I almost lost myself."
She nodded. "I almost lost you."
He looked at her, eyes soft.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She blinked again—five times fast.
Then leaned in and kissed him.
Soft.
Gentle.
Full of everything they had survived.
---
Final Scene: The Rooftop Again
One last time, they stood on the rooftop.
Wind blowing.
Sky painted in gold and violet.
City humming below.
Sara looked at Rhodes.
He looked at her.
They had come so far.
From strangers on a ledge.
To lovers in rhythm.
To artists in resistance.
To advocates in defiance.
And now?
Now they were something more.
They were proof.
Proof that silence didn't heal.
Proof that pain could be transformed.
Proof that beauty could be born from chaos.
She stepped closer.
Laced her fingers with his.
He kissed her forehead.
She blinked.
Five times.
Fast.
Then slow.
Then steady.
Then she whispered, "We did it."
He smiled. "We're just getting started."
And together, they stood on the edge of everything.
Beyond silence.
Beyond fear.
Beyond limits.
Just two albinos with Tourette's.
Still dancing to their own rhythm.
Still writing their symphony.
Still choosing love.
Still choosing life.
Still choosing themselves .