He'd been expecting this.
The search was thorough but not surgical. They patted him down, checked his shoes, went through his pockets. They found nothing because everything they were looking for was designed to be unfindable by anyone without the specific knowledge that these particular items existed.
The molar was just a crown. The button was just a button. The scar was just scar tissue. The tracker was seamlessly embedded in the shoe's sole with no visible evidence of tampering.
"You're clean," one of them said.
"Let's go," the largest man said.
They put a bag over his head, black cloth that blocked out all light....and James felt the reality of his situation settle over him like a physical weight.
He was about to disappear into an organization that made people vanish.
He was about to become a test subject for biological weapons.
He was about to die, most likely.
