𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋
The world blurred at the edges, sounds muffled and distant as hands gripped my arms.
Dr. Edwina's voice cut through the haze. "Get him on the stretcher. Now."
I felt myself being lifted, the ceiling tiles passing overhead in dizzying succession as they wheeled me through the corridors. We weren't headed toward the infirmary. We were going toward the lab—the private one, the one no one else knew about. Where they kept the Cryothermic Chamber.
"Vitals are destabilizing," someone said—one of Edwina's assistants, probably. "Heart rate erratic. Core temperature rising rapidly; rot is in motion."
"Expected," Edwina replied, her tone clipped and clinical. "The rot is accelerating. We need him in the chamber immediately."
The stretcher jolted as we turned a corner. I tried to speak, to ask how bad it was, but my throat felt frozen, words dying before they could form.
