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In darkness, Rodin tumbled. He heard voices devoid of words, then words that came from deep within. His body ached with a deep throbbing, then spasmed with excruciating pain.
He heard, or imagined he heard, Don, but the man spoke to Brodie, mentioned Empathine, and there were other voices too, calling him Donath. The voices were familiar, from a long time ago. Rodin felt warm, soft skin as a hand gripped his own, but then it became calloused, and then it disappeared.
And behind this all was the beeping, the constant sound of a machine, an electronic heartbeat. The sound grew, became everything. It beeped in time with his own heart, and Rodin focused on that, on the double-thump in his chest, and the throbbing in the rest of his body.
Pain. That’s what the throbbing represent
