Consciousness returned with a convulsion.
Hide's eyes snapped open in the dark, and before his mind could register his surroundings, his stomach heaved with volcanic intensity. A ragged, guttural spasm seized his diaphragm, forcing him to purge onto the cold floor. A sickening torrent of clotted blood, acidic bile, and foul gore spewed from his lips, splattering against the stone beneath his face.
His throat burned as if he had swallowed glass. His stomach continued to churn, dry-heaving painfully in empty tremors that sent sharp, radiating spikes of agony up into his chest.
COUGH! GAH—!
He gasped desperately for air, but the breath that entered his lungs was rancid and thick. The air was heavy with the stench of rotting flesh, damp mildew, stale copper, and caustic chemical disinfectants. It smelled like a slaughterhouse cellar that had been abandoned to fester in the dark.
Hide lay in his own vomit, panting erratically, his cheek pressed against the rough, freezing wall.
