Re: [IC] Chapter One - The Advance Team
Every time Durand breathes it feels as though his lungs are on fire inside his chest. The pain is intense, overwhelming, compounded by the searing heat in his eyes, in his nose. He's blind, utterly, absolutely, has lost all semblance of motor control. Someone is dragging him, carrying him. His hands reflexively clench and unclench into fists, he's wheezing, gasping....can't breathe, fuck, fuck, can't breathe...need air...a momentary sense of panic envelops him as he tries to gulp in lungfuls of air. He coughs, retches, spits out a long ribbon of phlegm that dangles grotesquely from his lower lip, breathes in, grunting as the action of doing so triggers a fresh wave of what feels like burning in his lungs, the heat compounded by the throbbing pain of the knife wound.
There's something hard against his back, he doesn't know what, fuck, he can't see, he needs to see. He blinks, once, twice, three times, but that just makes the heat more intense, everything is a dark blur, nothing discernible, nothing at all. He can hear a voice, tries to turn his head towards it, tries to locate the speaker, but he can't see anything. "Mike?" The word is a croak, just saying it makes his throat burn. He thinks this is what it must feel like if you drink acid. The voice is telling him to lean his head forward. He's helpless, is losing control of his bodily functions, there's a river of mucous streaming down his nose, tendrils of phlegmy drool dangling from the corners of his mouth S'il vous plaît ne me laisse pas me pisse... ne me laisse pas me chie...
His head falls forward. He feels nauseous, is aware of a wave of bile rising in his throat, forcing its way upwards. Durand vomits, the contents of his stomach spilling forth onto the ground at his feet.