Smiles absently "We'll see if it was a thread or idle conversation once its done
(( Why do i suddenly have a very bad feeling lol )).
You follow the Doctor into the back and into a surgical theater where he has you take a seat on the table before he administers the traditional syringe to the neck.
You wake up an indeterminate time later and sit up on the table, feeling yourself all over for some sort of mechanical limb or tentacle. You feel fine, in fact everything seems to be moving a little slower then usual, as though you're processing it all much faster.
"Ahh, awake huh?" The doctor says, stepping into the room and cocking his head a bit. "Feeling fine? Good. Just let me give you a quick booster shot." He pulls out a syringe and takes hold of your arm. You're so busy admiring how slow everything is now that you don't really pay attention until the needle punctures your skin ans suddenly the world is a maelstrom of agony, every nerve ending firing like you've been flayed alive with a hot knife.
You collapse back onto the table, writhing and unable to move aside from your own involuntary spasms.
"Oh dear," the doctor says, tossing the syringe over his shoulder, "It appears that I've accidentally made it so that any pain, no matter how small, causes every nerve in your body to fire off a pain response. How clumsy of me. And you know whats worse?"
He looms over you, looking down at you as he speaks
"I believe I may have edited that gene therapy so that pain killers are now highly toxic to you. How terrible. How terrible indeed. Oh, but wait."
He pulls out another syringe and promptly jams it in your arm. The unbearable pain subsides nearly instantly.
"Luckily it looks like there is still one type of pain killer that works for you. I wonder," he says as he takes the syringe and tosses it into slot on the wall marked "MEDICAL WASTE INCINERATOR", "Which one of the thousands of available pain killers it is. Oh well."
The Doctor turns on his heel and walks out of the room, his hands clasped behind his back and a cheery tune emanating from somewhere behind his respirator.
"Have fun out there."
Preparing ro drop.
The menu screen fades into black and then a moment later a green holodisplay pops on in front of you. The soft green light of the display illuminates the inside of the Avatar's cockpit, the fluid filled coffin in which pilots are entombed. Around you are the various panels and buttons for manual controls as well as the countless bundled cables that project from dozens of places all cross your body.
The display ticks quietly through a startup checklist until it stops and flashes red. The display reads: Inhibitor 03 malfunction.
"One minute till drop" a voice announces over the radio.