[ Septic. That was the word he had been looking for. Something must have gone wrong during the surgery, or something from the building had gotten into one of his wounds. He tried to think of anything he might have noticed, either at the site or when he'd woken up in the hospital, but trying to think coherently was like trying to run in deep mud.
Death. You're going to die. That was the only thought that stood out to him, and it only made things worse. His heart raced. It felt hard to breathe.
Then there were several people in scrubs standing around him—working to stabilize him. Wesker couldn't keep up with everything they were doing, but the oxygen mask... there was some relief in that. His breathing was still rapid, but at least it felt productive.
He caught the word "fever" and realized that was why he felt so cold. His temperature must have been dangerously high. Instead of the warmth of more blankets, he dreaded the thought that they might need to cool him down. ]
no subject
Death. You're going to die. That was the only thought that stood out to him, and it only made things worse. His heart raced. It felt hard to breathe.
Then there were several people in scrubs standing around him—working to stabilize him. Wesker couldn't keep up with everything they were doing, but the oxygen mask... there was some relief in that. His breathing was still rapid, but at least it felt productive.
He caught the word "fever" and realized that was why he felt so cold. His temperature must have been dangerously high. Instead of the warmth of more blankets, he dreaded the thought that they might need to cool him down. ]