Inside Cochrane’s quarters on the Manhattan, motes of lights swirled and solidified into the form of the room’s resident. Cochrane closed his eyes, took a breath and said “Ok…”

And then promptly threw up in the recycler.

His head began to pound and his vision swam with motes of light, even as his eyes were clenched shut. His chest tightened and he grasped the side of the counter. He leaned back and tried to breathe…

He had felt like this once before, and he knew logically what it was. Adrenal overload, and he was crashing… hard. The last time this happened he had almost died. He had also earned a medal… and as he sank to the floor, back against the island that separated the kitchen area from the living area, he chuckled softly to himself. “Not this time, Cochrane.” he mumbled. He set the back of his head against the island and closed his eyes and just tried not to throw up again.

Alex