"Stop," Morzeny ordered, and Mr. Hume stopped as told, the anger becoming confusion. "I will repeat: it only gets worse. And attacking me will only guarantee that you will never receive the antidote." There was no antidote. This was a lie. But Morzeny had learned in his training that the idea of an antidote could be helpful.
Now Hume's face crumbled in fear, his brain racing back over and over the last few minutes, the discomfort of paralysis, the wracking pain, like every one of his muscles were being ripped apart by claws, and now a strange and suddenly overwhelming thirst. Hume