Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
You've. Got. A. Son. GET UP!
The words cut through Chance's mind like a blowtorch through butter, battering against the gas-induced lethargy that had settled over him like a suffocating blanket. Some primitive part awoke at those words and overrode the conscious desire to just fall asleep and never have to wake up again. With an animalistic grunt Chance began to drag his almost unresponsive body up the stairs, one laborious step after another.
Time stopped, the world ceased to exist. All that remained were the words relentlessly hammering through his brain. GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Chance managed to reach the top of the stairs, found a door and stumbled through it.
A corridor. He was crawling by now. Another door.
The very small part of his consciousness that was still aware of his surroundings registered a bewildering kaleidoscope of sounds and sensations. Squealing tires, fresh air on his face, hands grabbing hold of him.
A voice.
"We've got you. You're safe now."
As if on cue the last reserves of strength gave out and blackness enveloped him.