Utterly ignoring what the flight assistant is saying, you get right up to her face, your tone and volume rising beyond expected levels, even when seasonally adjusted.

"Listen, you trumped-up piece of robotic trash, if there's a danger to this ship, and you're not telling us, then you'd better be ready toooo... nnn... uhhhh..." your words trail off, and then some.

The needle was sharp, to the point that you didn't even feel it as the flight attendant stuck it into your left arm, hitting a vein with robotic precision. First, you lose control of your mouth, then your legs. As you flop forwards, fighting for consciousness, the 'droid catches you, and everything becomes a blackish-red haze.

Turn to page 70.