Thoughts were racing through Ural's head as he looked the Vampire Lord in the eye. His first instinct, of course, was to rip the vampire's head off, however he could already feel the poison in his system. He had to consciously slow down his heartbeat in order to gain some time to think before the Halucinogen he'd heard about started affecting his thoughts. He should have disarmed Magnus sooner, before he could pull such a trick. He bares his teeth, growling, a deep-throated sound. It happened almost unconsciously, a manifestation of the Albino Wolf's anger.

To back down in a situation like this, bowing his head to the fool before him like a pup, would make him a weakling in the eyes of his Pack, and, more importantly, in his own eyes. However, he had no wish to spend the rest of his life incapable of leading, for what was leadership to him then? He was stuck between two dillemas, his honor and personal pride holding him back from accepting the antidote, his fear preventing him from killing Magnus. It was like a mental impasse, where neither notion could be fulfilled, absolute objects that would not budge, each other's perfect countermeasure. However, eventually, he was going to need to take action, s the current situation could not be preserved, not if he valued his sanity.

Still growling, Ural sheathed his claws, his hackles on end. Every nerve in his body told him to rip the vampire before him to pieces and feast on the remains, but his instinct for self preservation won out. His rule might be damaged, but his life would be preserved, and, better yet, his sanity. "You state that there is a threat to my pack? Speak up, tell me where it is before I rip your head off, venom be damned." Ural of course, covered up his cowardice quite well. Of course he had simply been finding a target that dared threaten his pack. However, he would need to string Magnus's remains outside his cave when this was over, just to prove that he was still the Alpha, and that nobody could get away with threatening him.
---------------
"You were incapacitated due to a mixture of fatigue, oxygen starvation, and hypothetical psychokinetic stress, as a result of your overuse of your capabilities." The voice is mechanical, most definitely belonging to one of the AI, presumably BioPILOT. You can't locate an exact source, however, due to the slight echoes in the room, and it seems to come from all directions at once. "After 1.4782 seconds of consideration and 0.2318 seconds of calculation, BioHIVE moved you to your current location, and you were prepared for removal of the toxin." The voice carries no emotion, of course, simply a matter of remixing tones produced by some nameless voice artist into words comprehensible by human beings, not sufficiently detailed to carry emotion, as there is no emotion to carry. However, if you had not heard this all repeated by Jack as he had boasted about his favorite AI, you would have sworn it contained just a hint of sorrow at it's creator's passing, just a slight tinge, but enough to be noticed.

Before any further considerations can be made, however, a small gleaming set of hydraulic pipes move into the light. They're connected to a complex series of electromotors and hinges which comprise a sort of mechanical 'arm', although with far more joints than any living being upon the planet Earth. The 'arm' of Terebithia moves towards the tray, as a few clamps change position, and then fasten around what looks like a modified circle saw. The hilt fits perfectly into the series of clamps, allowing for maximum stability, important when performing a surgical procedure. Then, with a slight whirring hum, and the hiss of hydraulics shifting position, the arm once more moves upwards, disappearing into the darkness outside of the lamp's beam.

Once more, the mechanical voice echoes from the darkness. "Instead of applying the antidote, besides to nullify additional effects, the preferred method of recuperation is complete neural analysis and operation." Whirring, hissing, and suddenly the feeling of razor sharp metal blades softly touching your forehead, not even drawing blood. An instrument of utmost precision, almost grace. "Painkillers have been deemed unnecessary due to your biology." The next note is said almost maliciously, giving a most definite impression of emotion. "Anesthesia has been deemed unnecessary." And with that note, the circle saw starts spinning, slicing into your skull, as more tendrils reach down, preparing further instruments for operation.