A succession of images after that: A man's face—Robert Leach's—with blood smeared up his cheek. A white ceiling up above your face, a too-bright fluorescent light running along its center. Electra Jones, biting her lower lip. Claudette Byron, illuminated by eerie green lights.
You snap to full consciousness in bed, in a room with drawn curtains, a small sliver of daylight showing between them. Several medical monitors stand to the right-hand side of the bed, monitors not unlike the equipment in the warehouse. One of them bleeps at you rhythmically. Slim wires run from a couple of the machines to sensors on your chest, and a drip stands on your left, a thin tube running out of sight beneath your bedsheets.
A moment of panic, then—with your left hand, you throw back the bedsheets. Your right arm is there, familiar, as it should be. A slim pink line runs across your shoulder and down across your armpit, marking where the limb was torn away from you. It wasn't a horrific dream, then.
A door opens on one side of the room, and Robert Leach enters. Seeing you, he smiles. "I'm glad to see you're awake. It's only been the last twelve hours or so that we've been confident you'd pull through."
"How long…?" you ask. Your throat is remarkably hoarse; you fail to finish the question.
"Four days," Leach answers. "The thin man used your arm, and that enchanted symbol etched on it, to pass through the barrier. Brett and his people killed him, of course, and then one of the warlocks was able to reenter the warehouse by the same method and put you in some sort of magical suspended animation. It's been touch and go every step of the way since then, though."
This turn of events surprises you. Leach starts to unplug you from the various equipment. "Please, come with me. There's something down the hall you'll want to see."
You nod, and help him disconnect the medical apparatus.
Leach seems surprised by your eagerness to help. "Maybe you should take it easy a little," he suggests. "You've had a traumatic experience."
"It only becomes a traumatic experience if I let it," you say, showing remarkable resolve.
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