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... smell.
Antiseptic. The sharp, clean bite of a hospital, cutting through whatever was left of the fog inside his skull. He tried to move and his body said ’no’ with the kind of authority that is not a suggestion.
His eyes opened.
Ceiling. White ceiling. Fluorescent lights that swayed like they were drunk, or maybe that was him.
People.
There were people around him. Hands on the gurney rails, hands adjusting IV lines, the efficient machinery of a trauma team ...
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