Quinn swam in fire, his body contorting as searing flames blackened, crisped with an indescribable pain .
His skin was slick, heat-stretched and taut as he fought his way upward, kicking against liquid pain, searching for the cool surface.
He broke, gasping, agony rolling over him in incandescent waves. Slowly the lapping subsided leaving him sweat soaked and shaking.
His eyes flickered in the blackness, a hiss-click of machinery echoed hollowly. He could feel the pinch of needles feeding fluid exchangers.
A damp pressure sealed his eyes.
Mentally probing he tried to sense the extent of the damage. He flexed, waiting for the sickening crackle of charred flesh, but there was no pain now, just a numbing detachment.
A door swung. Heavy footsteps approached.
Then the questions started, and Quinn began to wish he'd burned in the Rockwell.
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