He shrugs. “Could have. Didn't.”
The syringe presses into her neck. There’s slight pressure, ghostly pain- and nothing more.
“Don’t- touch me!” Her voice sounds wrong- breathy, oddly mechanical.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Elise tries to grind her teeth, tries to snarl. “Not- afraid!”
“Good. That’ll save time.” He studies her, detached, professional. “I have bad news.”
She lies silent.
“Your lungs were shot. Irreparable. Had to replace your respiratory tract.”
She gasps despite herself. It echoes through the ventilator that replaces her mouth.
“Your arms, legs- and eyes. I couldn't save them,” he says. "Had to give you new ones.”