wallwalker

How many shots have they given you, just in the last hour? You don't know. You lost count fifteen minutes in, as your mind shied away from the thought of so many needles piercing your skin.

Cid apologizes profusely every time he comes back with a new orderly, a new injection. Everyone knows how little you care for needles. He says that it's necessary, something to keep your immune system from attacking the infusions and self-destructing, or to slow down your heart rate and keep you calm, or whatever. He's given so many excuses. You can't keep track of them, either.

The infusion, now, that's the easy part. They've already put the shunt in for that, and you can't feel it anymore. You just feel when the power trickles into your body, burning and struggling – you swear, you can feel it trying to escape. But it's no good, now. It's a part of you, and that makes it yours. All yours.

The shots are even more frequent now. Everything's hazy, but you can't stop laughing, even when Cid starts yelling at you to be quiet. Quiet! Why should you be quiet when you have everything you've ever wanted? When everything you've ever believed is turning out to be real? No, you can't be quiet! You'll shout this from the roof of the palace, and you'll show the people below, you'll show them fire like they've never seen before! You'll show them, you'll show them all -

The last shot is the nastiest, and you would turn and burn the terrified orderly who gave it to you, but suddenly you're feeling dizzy, and the floor is starting to look awfully comfortable. You stare at him, at his swirling features, trying to remember them. You'll make him pay, but not... not now....