Nika felt the impact of the strike and gritted his teeth, absorbing it, feeling it.
And he was aware of Irinarhov, staring into his face, his near-black eyes and piercing raptor-like gaze.
Good, that was good. Hurt. The sniper's shouldering arm was strong, the slap stinging, jolting him momentarily.
He knew he was slipping into incoherence, so while he had a scattered spell of lucidity, he reached forward, graspng clumsily at the sniper's forearms, raising pale green eyes, hedonic and fevered with fatigue.
Locking them onto Irinarhov's and speaking with slow, measured words.
"Breast pocket," he intoned. "Glucogen."
He jerked his hands to clutch the sniper's face, steadying their gazes, pulling him close enough to hear his faltering voice.
no subject
And he was aware of Irinarhov, staring into his face, his near-black eyes and piercing raptor-like gaze.
Good, that was good. Hurt. The sniper's shouldering arm was strong, the slap stinging, jolting him momentarily.
He knew he was slipping into incoherence, so while he had a scattered spell of lucidity, he reached forward, graspng clumsily at the sniper's forearms, raising pale green eyes, hedonic and fevered with fatigue.
Locking them onto Irinarhov's and speaking with slow, measured words.
"Breast pocket," he intoned. "Glucogen."
He jerked his hands to clutch the sniper's face, steadying their gazes, pulling him close enough to hear his faltering voice.
"Syringe. Not in the muscle. Adipose. Shallow."
His lips shuddered.