Teg moved to rise, nearly managing a graceful stumble to the floor before she caught herself. She felt weak. She felt slow. And she didn't like either feeling. Despite the advice of the good doctor she knew that there was really only one solution to her problems. She needed something to drink. A bottle. At least a bottle. She had new nightmares to forget. New visions of her own mortality that she had to bury beneath the bodies of countless brave neurons. Unspoken was her irritation at her own clumsiness. There was no room for mistakes in battle. She'd gotten lucky. She'd gotten lucky again.

"Can't wait for for one hundred percent Doc, I've got pirates to murder," Teg said with another rasp that turned into a convulsing cough as she fought a losing battle against with the oxygen mask. It refused to come off and she finally accepted that her escape would have to wait with a weary sigh.

"Maybe, maybe I'll just rest for a little bit," the mercenary finally said, sighing again as her eyes slowly fluttered and she fell into a peaceful sleep.