[ It feels like an oil spill at the back of his mind, the coldness of it cracking like an egg, slimy and slick, on his consciousness. Jim has no shields, nothing to dampen the sensation, nothing but his own will to stop it from taking hold. A long-fingered claw, sinking into the parts of himself he cannot contain - his mind is not lashed together, it oozes, like water filling cupped hands - there cannot help but be spillage, and this is where the rot snakes its way in.

Peter's a good kid - they both are, unquestionably - but this place is about to get a lot more dangerous. God forbid one or both of them get loose; Jim knows the kind of havoc they can wreak on a good day, and with nothing inhibiting their judgment... ]

I don't think so. [ They have no way of knowing. There's so much about this place that they don't know, and Jim can't help but be frustrated by the powerlessness that lies within it. Knowledge is power, and they know far, far too little. He takes his place in the tub - it's cramped, with two six-foot men in it - but his legs bump against Spock's, hands folded in his lap as they start laying down the layers of webbing. It will certainly be enough for Jim, but Spock? Well, only time would tell. ] Use the phasers if you have to, guys. I'm serious. The stun setting won't hurt either of us, but it'll take me down like a bag of bricks in one shot - Spock needs a few more hits, but it'll work.

[ Jim blows out a breath, letting his head fall back against the wall; the gnawing, greasy smoke at the back of his mind feels cloying, numb dread seated on the back of his tongue. However long he has or doesn't have, Jim's under no illusions this will be a pleasant experience. ] Gwen, you said your tablet assigned you 'Doctor'? Did it say anything else?