Lying immobile on his back, his arms and legs injected with the same numbing drug as Batman's, Carl Gustavus was beginning to question his recent career change.
Actually, he was questioning a lot more than that: the solidity of his skin, the grotesque visions his eyes kept presenting him, the very fabric of reality itself.
He was like an upended turtle, waiting helplessly for the end to come.
He was fairly certain it was going to happen slowly, painfully, and horribly. He'd seen things, heard things, suspected things. Awful things, involving hideous weapons of torture and unspeakable acts of violence.
He had no idea who was behind it all, or how he'd gotten himself into this position. Not knowing made the defeat all the more ignominious.
He felt something dripping on him from somewhere above and sensed his flesh begin to melt away as he grew aware that someone was in the room with him, watching him struggle to remain alive and gloating as he lost the battle.
Should have known..., Gustavus whispered, not sure whether the words could be heard by his new companion or not. It was you all along.