Soft illumination passed from above his head to his feet like the dotted line seperating lanes on a highway. He heard the gurney's loose joints shift as a crew of specialists wheeled him through the halls of the hospital. Someone punched the automatic doors and a draft of air cooled his face.
He was aware of people prodding him with surgical tools but really didn't feel the needles. Someone asked him a question and he nodded a reply. For the life of him he could not pull the words to his forethoughts much less how he knew what to reply. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the computers quietly giving the doctors signals to define his condition. Then, a mask was placed over his mouth and nose. He drifted into induced sleep.
At some point he thought he could hear his angels talking in doctor-speak. Syllabic nonsense. Eyes fluttered open but the light was too bright to see anything. He flinched and sensed urgent movement by the team concentrating on his broken body. Before they managed to induce another round of sleep he believed he could feel tugs around what must have been his injuries. How strange, he thought, that one could feel the skin being pulled only from the points beyond where the actual work was being done. The areas where he imagined his injuries to be seemed not to be part of him. He meant to ask someone if he was going to die but before he could, a quiet cloud covered everything a second time.