A start of something. Might carry it on, depending on response.
Too close. Far too close. Need to escape. Need to get back to citadel. So much pain. Can't feel my legs. Pushed it too far this time. Stupid! Stupid! Too cocky, too overconfident. Know why as well. Damned serum.
Nearly there... So tired. Could just lie down and rest.
NO!
Keep going. Not for far now. There's the door. Get away from the maddening non-colours. Keep focussed. Logic. Cling to the logic. Cling to the task.
A large figure staggered through a large heavy door. The room he staggered into was small, but well lit. The door he staggered through dwarfed everything else in the room, making what would otherwise be a large entrance and medical cabinet look almost toy-like. Bleeding heavily from numerous wounds to the stomach and chest, and seeping pus and ichor from many cuts and abrasions, the figure staggered across the chamber to a console in the middle of the room, leaned over it and pressed large red button. The enormous door through which he had staggered began to close behind him with a slight hum, the only testament to its motion. A large clawed arm, chitinous and shining in the feeble light, reached through and tried to hold the door open. A voice screamed in a language that had no meaning, but clawed at the soul, as something evil tried to claw its way through. The door's merciless advance crushed it against the doorframe, leaving a stump of claw that dripped hissing blood onto the floor.
Too close. Dammit, too close. Next time they might get through. Must NOT let that happen. Oh god the pain. Need medical attention. No, too late for that. Only the serum now. Nothing else can help.
The figure sagged against the medical cabinet, and a wave of exhaustion washed over him, as the realisation that he would live nearly caused him to pass out.
"Sir! Sir!"
A familiar voice ran out down the corridor. The figure sagged, sighing with familiar resignation, reached into the cabinet. Inside the cabinet sat a rack of injectors that glowed an eerie green and smelled foul. The figure pulled one out and held it with a look of self loathing and need.
Got to. It's the only way now. Can't die here. Too many would die. Or worse. Yes. That's why I'm doing this.
Putting it to his leg, he pushed the button on the side, and spasmed as the green liquid in the injector flooded into his system. His eyes flashed red for a second, and his wounds slowly knitted themselves shut, restoring torn muscle, smashed bone and destroyed skin. A scream threatened to rip itself from his body as every muscle fibre in his being strained, his body almost trying to tear itself apart. The pain was agonising and seemed to last a lifetime, but slowly it subsided and was replaced with a feeling of godlike power and invincibility. The shaking stopped, and the sweat merely glistened on the skin, rather than pouring off in torrents.
He lay on the floor twitching for a few more seconds. Raising his head for a moment, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a couple of large cloth-like patches, which he placed on the holes in his clothing. The cloth stretched and began to knit itself into the fabric of his clothing.
The man raised himself and looked into the polished surface on the front of the cabinet. His eyes glowed with a madness that could cut to the depths of the souls of those weak willed. He began to smile in a way that showed off too many teeth, and looked a little bit too hungry.
His clothing repaired, he wiped the sweat from his brow and walked confidently to the exit door.
"Sir. We have a problem."
The grin faded to a snarl. The glow in the eyes intensified for a second, heading to a rage that could destroy the world.
How dare this insect… no, wait, this was technically an ally. Remember who your friends are. Yes. Friends. Tools maybe. Food perhaps. NO! Logic. Logic is the weapon. Use it. Where am I? The citadel. Safe? Possibly. So many enemies. KILL THEM ALL!
NO! Calm. Remember who you are. Remember the task. Nobody else knows. No-one else can do this. He may be annoying, but he works for you. You are in control. You are logical, and Logic is the Weapon.
The figure subsided to a glower, seeming merely angry, rather than apoplectic. He opened a door to reveal a small balding man. The smaller man jumped in fear at the sudden confrontation.
"What is it Snively?"