I shouldn’t have been seeing anything but a big, forever blackness. Instead, there was that face. Those giant, black eyes… that inhuman, oblong, gray head.

I attempted to move, but my muscles felt… absent. Imaginary. I tried again, harder, tried to lift myself up, but felt nothing. I had no sense of my body whatsoever: no heaviness, no numbness… not the slightest sensation. I could breathe and I could move my eyes, but that was the extent of it. I slowly lowered my gaze.

I cried out, my voice a mere whimper.

Where my body should have been, there was scant, loose flesh. Where that flesh should have met other flesh, instead there was an oily, black substance filling the gaps. That was it. I had no arms, no legs, no body; I was a blob.

“What is this? What happened to me?” My words barely audible.

Spegg made a hollow, bubbling sound in his throat, then leaned in, his voice low. “I saved what I could, Wayne Robertson, but there isn’t much of you left.”

He dipped his finger into the black substance where my chest should have been and held it to the light. For a moment the goo dripped down his long, bony finger. Then it stiffened, skittered sideways, and leapt from his knuckle back to the exact spot he’d taken it from.

“This will hold you together while we source your replacement parts.”