The lights of the medical deck scrolled down my field of vision as I blinked and tried to recover some of my mental function.
“I just hit him with the general anaesthetic!”
“Hit him again!”
I shook my head. Something wasn’t right. I tried to get up, but there were restraints.
“Carto, something’s wrong with your wetware. It’s not taking the implants like your grey matter should – like it’s not happy with them, somehow. We need to move you to Nanosurgery and weld them on.”
“No, no, that’s – that’s not right… I need to -”
A needle gun stabbed into me and delivered another full dose of anaesthetic. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t work out why something felt so wrong that I’d tried to get up off the trolley. I fought to work out why, but it was pretty futile.
They shifted me onto the operating table, under the ferocious whirring behemoth of the nanosurgeon. Something was wrong, something was wrong…
It was the only thought I could hold on to as my world blurred away.