A profound silence settled in the white cell, a silence more terrifying than any alarm. It was the silence of a predator that had finished its meal and was now contemplating its next move. Roewi was a ghost in the machine of his own body. He could see through his own eyes, feel the cold platform beneath him, hear the frantic shouts and scrambling from the observation room now that the dampeners were dead. But he could not twitch a finger, could not form a word. He was entombed within his own skull, a prisoner of a consciousness that was both a part of him and utterly alien.
[Assessment: Host motor functions are suboptimal for combat evasion. Direct control is necessary.]
The thought was not directed at him. It was a clinical, internal memo from Vextor to itself. Roewi felt his body rise
