Sergei Vladimir was a sight that brought to mind the words, "collosal wreck". Despite the obvious power written into the lineaments of his body, his body had sunken in on itself from lack of use and solid food. Had the people closest to him seen him, they would have been aghast at the drastic change wrought in him.
Although the dormant shell of a man would normally be kept on oxygen and a feeding tube, it appeared that the attendants had removed them, an unmentioned threat of a life lost Birkin's hands. His breathing was strained, and the massive chest rose and fell with visible dificulty.
/Colonel, we have-\ ,
-I assure you, there is nothing that can be-`]
Des r c -was my mission
The wash of sedatives and paralytics coursing through his body, designed to keep the former military man in the coma Spencer had diligently kept him in, was obviously ebbing. From the back of the dry throat came a weak moan, like a dog, thick and rife with suffering.
He could feel- the flame atop the spout, burning off the gas/
--/ red and white on the green background, muscles shifting the fabric of N#=