Chris cannot feel anything below his waist. What he can feel above them isn't very pleasant, to say the least.
What this has to do with the fact that Nero is standing in front of him wearing what looks to be a stereotypical 1950's housewife outfit is anyone's guess.
"Hello Christopher," Nero greets him, using two fingers to tilt his face towards him. He has earrings on, sparkly things which glitter brightly in the darkness. If he could think, maybe he could tell why that struck him as so wrong. As it is, he spends a little while trying to will Nero's bald head to become covered in blond curls; when it fails to happen, he takes it as a sign that this might not be some sort of fucked up dream after all. Too bad.
"And how was your day, dear?" Nero asks. His fingers rub down the side of Chris' face, and end up over the pulse point. His hand covered his throat and squeezed. "Dear?"
Jesus, he's expected to answer that?
"Kind of shitty," he croaks.
"Poor Christopher," Nero says. "But, look I have something to cheer you up."
A hologram floats above the table now: a sphere with familiar swirls of blue and green and brown. Earth.
"You're home."