...and as you feel your fine motor control start to ebb away, you suddenly realize with terrifying clarity that you are about to die, and there is nothing you can do about it now. blackness begins to eat away at the edges of your peripheral vision, a uniformed and controlled pace steadily working its way towards the center. you try to scream, but there's a tube in your throat and you become hyper-aware of the coarse medical tape around your mouth and nose, unnatural, foreign additions to your most necessary orifices.

the panic floods, you manage to jerk your head around, one last violent spastic act of defiance. floral-pattern scrubs and baby blue surgical masks make everybody indistinguishable from everyone else. their flat, professional tones echo in your ears, and your last thoughts are of unfathomable solitude as the void takes you

but thank god your friends and family will remember you as a man of science

They're not killing enough to be honest.