The buzzing continued. It was through my flesh now and touching the spine. It would destroy the nerves in a moment. I would be dead—or even worse, a limp cripple, a rag doll.
The smell of roasted flesh and hair was a thick, choking, sickening fog of decay. I couldn't breathe. There was blackness, swirling and concentric, closing in.
I think one of them kicked me in the groin before I lost consciousness.
I couldn't be sure. I couldn't be sure of anything.
Coming out. Sound before sight and I heard the low voices. My eyes were already open. Nebulous shapes, now sharpening.
I was in a small room with gleaming metal walls and I was on my back on a sort of table. Three men were in the room with me, standing over me. Apollo ... the bull-necked man ... the man with the nose like a crane.
