>>43 >>44 Sorry guys, I'm afraid this chapter continues a trend of me being mean. _______________________ Two days seemed to go by almost painfully slow. Two days of quiet – of no record player, and no books, and no Beschützer. All that Fleischer had to do was circle in his little pool – to pace, and to stew over everything that had happened, and was going to happen. He was going to die. Not permanently, perhaps – but, when the gurney was wheeled into the room, flanked by Davis and his six guards, he knew exactly where he was going. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He also knew what would happen if he didn't cooperate. Fleischer pulled himself out of the pool. His tentacles splayed across the floor, as much as he tried to get them to exert some downward force so he could 'stand'. His legs, when he had them, had aided in making him quite tall. He wasn't used to people looking down on him – not physically, at least. Two of the guards stepped forward to help him up. They received a growl in response, and quickly backed away. Fleischer still had some small shred of pride, and he wanted to keep it, even if it amounted to all but clawing his way up onto the gurney. He at least had enough control over his tentacles that he could wind them around the gurney's supports, instead of letting them drag the floor. "It will be quick," Doctor Davis said, walking next to the stretcher as it was wheeled into the airlock. "I'm sure you're aware of what potassium chloride does when injected into a human body. If I recall the reports correctly, that was your drug of choice in your syringe gun." Yes, Fleischer knew exactly what potassium chloride did to a human body. He had used it a number of times on and off the field of battle to snuff out the lives of his fellow man. He had never imagined he'd be on the receiving end. Perhaps, he thought, not for the first time, this really was some sort of karmic hell. He cooperated, though. He remained lying on his back, sharply aware of the white lights and the tiles passing overhead. For the very first time, Fleischer got a good look at the operating room as they entered it. It was only just outside the airlock, probably for easy access. The very thought made him shudder. The room was nothing but stark white tiles and gleaming stainless steel. It was completely immaculate. There were X-rays up on the light boards and. One plate showed a skull with teeth that that were far too sharp. Another showed a pelvis that almost could have been human, but wasn't quite right. Fleischer knew they were his, and quickly looked away, not wanting to see the other plates – not wanting to see what he'd become. Instead, he focused on forcing his tentacles to release the gurney, so he could be moved to the operating table. It felt freezing cold against his back, but that wasn't the only reason he shivered. He couldn't stop himself from trembling as the guards started to fasten the leather restraints over his upper body. There was no point in resisting. If he resisted they would shoot him, and he would Respawn. If he didn't resist, they would give him the potassium chloride and he would Respawn. Fleischer laid there quietly, his hearts pounding, and his tentacles (unable to be strapped down, much to Davis's fascination and disappointment) curling tightly around the supports of the table. Fleischer jumped a little when Davis offered him a little pat on the shoulder. It was a sick sort of comfort, the Medic thought, for a patient the man was about to kill. He couldn't turn his head to see, but, he could hear the quiet sound of a syringe being uncapped, and the needle piercing the membrane over the top of a vial. He did catch just a brief glimpse of the syringe as Davis approached him. The syringe had been filled to the brim, and the needle was at least ten centimeters long. That was no shock, given its contents. The leads of an EKG were carefully positioned on Fleischer's body. He wasn't surprised at how quickly his heart – his hearts – were beating, and how fast, in turn, the machine was beeping. The chill of alcohol being wiped over his chest made Fleischer shiver all the more; it seemed a pointless gesture – protecting against infection when he was going to die, anyway. "Breathe in deeply and hold it, please," Davis said. It was an easy enough command to follow. Fleischer was practically holding his breath, already. He grimaced when he felt the needle sink into his chest. It went far deeper, slipping between his ribs before piercing his heart – his main heart. The stab of the needle was almost unbearable. The pain as the syringe's contents were injected, though, was enough to make Fleischer feel as though every muscle in his body was tightening. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and down his left arm. He gritted his teeth and let out an agonized, inarticulate groan. The beeps of the EKG began to blend into a high-pitched screech. The sound was unbearable. The pain was unbearable. The bright light overhead was unbearable. Fleischer's hearts were faltering, and he could feel every erratic, struggling beat. It wasn't long before the bright lights faded, consumed by calm, merciful black.