If it looked horrible, it felt about a thousand times worse. Completely unprepared for Cave driving the plug home, Wheatley was similarly unprepared for the explosion of pain behind his eyes, in the back of his neck, ripping down his spine and threatening to overcome him entirely. Suddenly the sticky wetness of more blood was completely secondary to the needle pushing its way through his skull, plunging deeper until it finally reached its intended destination.

The good thing, he supposed, was that the hard part was over, even if the hard part had left him gasping and shaking and bleeding atop the transfer machine, throat sore from the scream he barely registered. And through it all, the mantra of stay conscious.

It was easier said than done, and when the stabbing pain subsided to a dull throbbing, he found it a struggle to keep his eyes open.

"I'm okay," he managed, more of a drawn-out moan than actual words. "Do it, please, just get on with it."