Michael's heart is racing as he arrives in Lee's cell, stumbling when his feet hit the unforgiving concrete floor. There's too much adrenaline running through him, he can barely make his way to their side without his legs giving out. The sharp, sour odor of vomit penetrates everything. It makes him want to scream.
"Lee! Lee, Lee, Lee. Shit, shit!" He falls down clumsily next to them, grabs their face. They don't feel cool to the touch like they usually do and they're shiny with sweat. He can't understand what they're saying. Their eyes look strange.
It probably hasn't been an hour since he left the office (though he's not sure how long it took to find them). This had been a normal day. Boring, even. Shouldn't there have been some kind of build-up? Some recent omen? He feels miles behind, stupid and scared and blind.
"What is this, did they make you sick? Why is this happening?" he demands. They shouldn't linger here, they should leave immediately, but nothing in his head is working properly.