She didn’t twitch or tremble like her husband. With a silver bead on her left temple and her eyes glazed like those of an amped-out meth junkie, Judy Snyder perched on the sofa, knees together, hands folded serenely in her lap. His gaze shifted back and forth between two points of interest: his wives. Except for his twitching fingers and the tremors, which were both involuntary, he did not move, not even to change position in the chair, because he had been told to be still. He had been ordered to remain silent, and he had lost the power to disobey. Instantaneous chemical cauterization of flesh and bone prevented bleeding. The bead was in fact packed with electronics, nanocircuitry, and was rather like the head of a nail in that it was the visible portion of a needle-thin probe that had been fired into his brain by a pistol-like device. As rounded and as polished as the head of a decorative upholstery tack, it looked like a misplaced earring. On his left temple, a silvery bead gleamed. His mouth hung slightly open, and his lower lip trembled almost continuously. He sat stiff, erect, his hands upturned in his lap. Owl-eyed and terrified, Warren Snyder occupied an armchair in his living room.
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