His hands clawed desperately, snatching random vials and sending other crashing to the floor. He had to work fast. Faster than the poison coursing through his body. He banged his knee into the sharp metal edge of the table, but there was no stabbing lance of pain. He couldn't feel his legs. His arms were buzzing. His vision was almost gone. He was dying. He was outraged. No, he was beyond outraged. He was fucking furious.
With gritted teeth, Blitzmann filled a syringe with six different kinds of adrenaline and pure liquid stubbornness and jabbed it straight into his struggling heart.
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