Hours had passed after being pulled back from death, Jin still felt shackled by the numb heaviness that clung to his bones. Sitting on the edge of his cot in the cold hum of the Command Wing, he flexed his fingers experimentally. His muscles thrummed with a strange energy—a fierce power born from his recent level-up—but it was buried beneath a tide of bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to sap him with every breath. The Resurrection Sickness sapped half of his essence, as Asha clinically reminded him, but Jin was too tired to argue with the ghost of his own vitality.
In his hand, the foil-wrapped ration bar weighed like a cruel joke. Its beige surface held no promise, no spark. He unwrapped it mechanically and lifted it closer: odorless, bland, utterly devoid of life.
'98.7% optimal caloric intake for recovery,' Asha's voice echoed in his mind, cool and precise. 'The nutrient paste is an efficient delivery system.'
